A Greatly Titled Gentleman
by Nyneva
Summary: A madcap tale of espionage and adventure during the Napoleonic War
1. chapter 1

**Prologue:**

 **1810, Cadiz, Spain**

George Franklin Alexander Darcy, His Grace the 4th Duke of Montagu was a dead man.

He was well aware of this fact, the open wounds and aching body he had awoken to screamed his fate. His eyes were so swollen, he saw the dimly lit room through a tiny slit and even then the effort to keep them open at all was great. He watched as a giant of a man sat opposite the chair he was currently occupying, wrapping his bloodied knuckles to protect them from the damage he was inflicting. The man looked up from his task to see George straining to see more of the room, perhaps in hope of escape.

"'E eez awake, Sir." The large man addressed a shadow in the corner of the small room, his French accent slightly slurred from exhaustion.

It was tiring, beating a man half to death.

The imposing figure stepped forward into the candle light. He was not as large as the very tired brute but he seemed far more formidable. He looked like he had stepped from the pages of Scottish lore with large broad shoulders, ruddy hair and a fair complexion splattered with oddly still formidable freckling. His look was rounded out with a kilt worn under the jacket of a General in Napoleon's army.

"Thank you, Francois, that will be all." His melodic French accent a stark contrast to his appearance.

Francois very gladly quit the seat across the ill-made table from our dear George. As he got up, he pushed the table hard into his chest causing George to cough up blood and, though he couldn't be sure he thought it likely, a tooth.

Cheap move, Francois.

"That is quite enough, Francois." The commanding officer said in his still melodic but now stern voice.

George looked up and grinned a bloody grin. "Where were you an hour ago, MacDonald?"

MacDonald chuckled and sat in the seat so recently quit by Francois.

"I admit I was quite enjoying it until that last. I do hate to see you lose a tooth, Mr. Darcy." He feigned momentary embarrassment. "Ahhh, I mean Your Grace."

George nodded lifting his chin in a regal position, "I accept your sincere apology, Your Grace."

MacDonald smirked at this. "You may call me General, of course."

It was Darcy's turn to chuckle. "Still too new? It took me years to get used to the title."

MacDonald waved his hand dismissively "Non. But I am not acting in a noble capacity just now, am I?"

"Oh, come now, MacDonald. A French born Scot and an Italian Duke? Your ancestral home is very near my hunting lodge, you know. We're practically neighbors" George's grin was made almost maniacal by the blood on his lips."You could let me go on that technicality."

Far from amused MacDonald's face turned a deep shade of red but he managed to control his obviously deep seeded anger. "Do you mean the home of my father before he was forced to flee English tyranny? Do you mean the home that was stolen from my family?" His pitch was raising incrementally higher in anger. "You dare bring that up as a connection?!" He slammed his large hands on the poor table. "I am French, damn you!" His control snapped and he moved across the table and grabbed George by his bloody collar, their faces mere inches from each other. "You are lucky someone wants you alive or I would end you right here."

George knew to whom he was referring and it scared him more than he wanted to admit.

"I'm too old for this. Take my letters, MacDonald." He said through gritted teeth. "I don't trust him to deliver them and my children deserve to know something of me."

MacDonald let out a huff and threw George back into the chair. "You trust me to keep them? I won't be delivering them, I'm fighting a war."

George didn't bother with a response, he stared at MacDonald patiently.

"Fine." MacDonald gave in. "I will deliver your bloody letters when I am able."

Relief flooded George. I only hope that idiot Wickham got out in time.

This was George's last thought before MacDonald's large fist made contact with his already ill used head and he lost consciousness.

"English pig" MacDonald spat in his still florid French then laid George out on the stone floor and turned on his heel to leave.

His Grace George Franklin Alexander Darcy, the 4th Duke of Montagu would awaken on a boat, heading to an unknown location.

Luckily, that idiot Wickham did, in fact, manage to get out in time.

 **Chapter 1**

 **Darcy House, London, England**

Viscount Lipscomb, the eldest son and heir to the Earl of Matlock was a dead man. Fitzwilliam Alexander Darcy, His Grace the 5th Duke of Montagu was going to see to it personally.

And enjoy every minute.

Darcy cringed as his least favorite cousin itched himself for the fourth time. The man had either caught something from one of his mistresses or his valet had put him in the worlds itchiest pants. Darcy didn't care which it was so long as he no longer had to witness his incredibly poor attempts at discreetly relieving the discomfort.

"So, as you see, my good man" his nasally voice had grated Darcy's ears since childhood. "I am in need of a spot of money." Darcy had been expecting the request, nay (by the second furtive itch) wishing for it simply to end the charade of small talk but it didn't make the situation any more tenable. He had promised himself, and his cousin for that matter, that the last loan was going to be the last loan. While he was ashamed to admit he had briefly considered paying the man simply so he would leave sooner and only infect his settee with whatever he was carrying, Darcy was nothing if not a man of his word.

His cousin had continued speaking but Darcy had stopped listening so felt no sorrow at interrupting him.

"No, Lipscomb." The Viscount stopped mid sentence and stared blankly. "The last time I loaned you money I was very clear as to the status of any forthcoming moneys from the Darcy coffers, was I not?"

Lipscomb tilted his head to the side and stared at Darcy. "Whatever do you mean, cousin?" He began drawing out his syllables and sat straighter in the chair, the start to any good fit of pique from a worthless aristocrat.

"I mean exactly what I have said, cousin. Now." Darcy pulled a letter from a neat pile on his desk and placed it before him. "If that is all you have come to discuss, I will bid you good day."

Lipscomb dropped his jaw to his chest, he fought the urge to itch his crotch so badly he squeezed his thighs together and his foot began to tap. "This is an outrage!" He flung his hands in the air and stood before turning to pace. He took wide steps in an attempt to alleviate the fire burning in his pants. "Everyone who is anyone is investing! I simply must! Saffron will be all the rage, cousin!"

Darcy's expression had not changed but he narrowed his eyes at Lipscomb slightly to convey his message.

"Oh!" The viscount threw his hands in the air and rolled his eyes. "You always were the most recalcitrant! This!" He pointed at Darcy in accusation. "This is why no one likes you!"

Darcy's face showed nothing."If that be the case, I fear you are only encouraging my recalcitrance."

The Viscount scoffed. "You are inhuman, cousin." To this he was offered a slight quirk of the eyebrow, the only tick of moment on His Grace's inscrutable face. "Yes, yes, I'm leaving. But, when the ton is crazed for saffron I assure you I will not share mine with you, Your Grace." He glared at the stoic faced Darcy and bowed as sarcastically as his itching crotch would allow before turning on his heel and slamming the door for good measure.

Darcy allowed himself a roll of the eyes before composing his face back to his placid ducal mask. He had an appointment to see to today and, he was loath to admit even to himself, he was slightly unsettled by the prospects. Receiving a summons from the Foreign Secretary was not at all expected and if the Duke showed enough emotion to hate anything it was the unexpected. He shook his head as though to clear it of such emotional nonsense.

He had things to do and His Grace was a man who got things done.

The anteroom to the foreign minister's office was occupied by a diminutive man with round spectacles perched precariously on the end of his nose. Without looking up from the large stack of correspondence he was sorting, he welcomed the visitor. "Your grace, please take a seat, the minister will be with you shortly."

The Duke stood stock still for a moment, shocked at the lack of deference. He had only been Duke for the year since his father had been declared dead but even as a marquess he was rarely treated as such. His face changed from stern to indignant in a heartbeat.

The small perpetrator of such disrespect, seemingly unperturbed by his passé, rose from his desk carrying three piles of opened correspondence and turned to enter the door directly behind him. He placed the documents on the desk in front of a younger, rather pleasant looking man and nodded his head slightly. He then went back to the door before announcing the visitor.

"His Grace the Duke of Montagu, to see you, my lord." He turned to the Duke, still standing in the center of the anteroom and motioned for him to enter.

The announcement effectively broke Darcy's trance. His face still dark, he gracefully strolled into the office and gave the small man one final glare before turning to the foreign minister standing behind his desk and bowed slightly. "Your Lordship."

"Good morning, Your Grace, please sit, if you will. Marley" he addressed his secretary still standing in the door "please have tea sent up and ensure we are undisturbed otherwise."

Marley nodded again and shut the door as he left.

The Viscount Wellesley regarded the young man in front of him. At three and thirty, Fitzwilliam Darcy cut an imposing figure, with broad shoulders a trim, athletic waist and long legs, he was the very picture of his father. Wellesley hoped he could be just as useful.

"Your Grace, if you don't mind me asking, what was your age when your father ascended to his title?"

Darcy's face showed none of the astonishment he felt at this odd opening. "I was sixteen when the titles were bestowed." He said, offering nothing else.

"Yes." Wellesley nodded. "Leeds was in my position at the time, I believe. He enjoys extremes." He imparted this with a nod. "The title was from your mother's birth family, yes? Her parents died young and she was raised by the Matlocks?"

"I do not see what this has to do with anything." Darcy waved his hand in a near dismissal. He did not enjoy his title but he did take it seriously. And he most seriously did not enjoy discussing his private matters.

"Let me be blunt with you, Your Grace." Wellesley began a new track. "The title was allowed to pass through your mother for… well, how do I put this, for services rendered to the ministry by your father."

Darcy's eyes opened wide in shock. "My father?" He shook his head rather emphatically for an emotionally reticent man. "My father held no political position, he was a classical scholar." He said the last as though the man before him were slightly slow in the head. "And he has been dead for over a year now."

Wellesley smiled. "You are correct, he held no position publicly but he did his duty to the crown nonetheless." He paused and placed his steepled hands on the desk in front of him. "Which is why I have called you here, Your Grace." He handed Darcy a large envelope containing a stack of papers. Darcy pulled out the papers and on the top was a very accurate sketch of his father. "Your father was an agent for the crown." He smiled absently. "A very efficient agent, I might add." He nodded his head to the papers Darcy held. "And, he may still live."

Darcy's face paled and, for the first time in his entire life, he felt near faint.

 **Darcy House**

 **London, England**

The ride back home from the disproportionately short meeting was made in a near catatonic state for His Grace. He sat back in his seat abandoning for the first time in recent history his rigid, straight backed posture as he allowed his head to rest on the back wall of his carriage.

Father might live.

Darcy felt a dam snap in his mind. The torrent of emotions assaulting him was nearly unbearable. The years of heartache, watching his sister withdraw from the world after their father would leave. The years of loneliness, running a massive dukedom by the age of 17 when his father left them for the first time.

The anger he felt for the man who he believed had abandoned he and his sister warred with a deep yearning to know his father. To know the man who gave him life.

From Wellesley he learned his father had been conscripted into spying for the crown. The implied neutrality of academics had given him carte blanche access to the entire globe and the British military had no problem exploiting his status.

Damn and blast! He punched his knee in anger.

His carriage pulled to a stop in front of his home and Darcy alighted before the footman could offer his aid. He needed to be alone. He needed to scream. His breathing became labored and his left hand was shaking.

He stalked up the front steps. Everything within him demanded he run but Darcy was still a Duke and a Duke did not run.

He staggered up the steps to his town home numbly and handed his outerwear to Mr. Humphries, his butler, mechanically, not seeing what he was doing or fully processing what was being said to him. He felt as though someone had placed a bowl on his head, sounds seemed to echo all around but he was unable to make out the words. He barely nodded to his faithful servant before stumbling down the hall to his study.

He closed the door and pressed his back against it to keep him upright.

I must find him.

He stood taller but not in recovery, he couldn't breath, he needed air. His lungs felt like they were unable to take in enough oxygen to feed his body, it felt like drowning on dry land. His hands started shaking uncontrollably and he had a brief image of himself dying and his poor sister crying inconsolably.

He leaned back against the door much harder this time and slid down under his own weight, his legs turning to jelly. He breathed hard in and out until he finally began to calm, some minutes later.

"Get it together" he whispered to himself as he pushed off the door and walked towards the center of the room, beginning his routine of pacing in front of his desk.

Oh god, how will I find him?

He ran his fingers roughly through his hair and looked around the room desperately as though he could find the answer to his problems amongst the knickknacks and paperwork.

Sometime later, a knock startled him out of his jumbled thoughts. Humphries entered at Darcy's assent and announced his cousin "Major General Fitz-"

"Yes, yes, thank you, Humphries." A sandy haired, broad shouldered man in a red coat had a jovial voice as he squeezed past the butler and patted him on the shoulder. "I will take it from here."

"Very good, sir" Humphries said in a dry tone before closing the door lightly behind him.

Richard chuckled when the door was closed. "I can not tell you how gratifying it is to do that."

Darcy sat behind his massive desk, statuesque in his equally large chair, staring at the wall behind his cousin. His impossibly dark hair a mass of curls and tangles and his blue eyes nearly glowing with emotion. The tumult readily apparent in his eyes the only indication he felt anything as his body was rigid and unflinching as stone.

Richard's smile fell and his face became deadly serious. "I know you've come from Wellesley. What did he tell you?"

Darcy's eyes ripped away from the wall to bore into his cousin for a moment before they widened slightly in understanding.

"You bastard." He growled.

Richard looked momentarily stunned before regaining his composure.

He nodded in contrition. "I knew." He said quietly, apologetically. "But, I swear to you, I only found out after he was declared dead. And only because one of my superiors let it slip, I don't think they knew the connection." He looked at Darcy entreating him to understand but he was met with a cold glare. "I was in Portugal for god's sake! You know I would have told you if I had known before but what good could it have done?!"

"What good? What good?" Darcy shouted. "I would have known my father wasn't on a damned pleasure trip around the world with Wickham." He spat the name like it tasted bad in his mouth. "I would have known my father did not abandon Georgie and and I! I would have known…" he bit off in frustration. "I don't know!" He thundered "But it would have been a hell of a lot better than thinking he left us because he wanted to."

"And how was I to tell you?! Put it in a letter? How was that to go?! Cousin, your father isn't just a scholar, he works for the ministry gathering information to use against the French? How was I supposed to write that?!" he stopped and ran his hands down his face."The only letters I even wrote while there were to you or to the families of all the men" he huffed "not even all of them were men! Boys! I was writing letters to mothers and fathers to tell them their children were slaughtered for the crown, thanking them for the lie sacrifice." He hung his head and continued quietly. "I'm sorry, cousin. I should have written you. I planned to tell you when I arrived yesterday but the visit was so short, I planned to call on you today. I had no idea they suspected he was alive, you must know that." He pleaded "I would have mounted a search myself if I had known."

Darcy softened at this. He was angry, to be sure but he trusted his cousin implicitly. He exhaled loudly. "I know. This is just-" he ran his hands roughly down his face "Richard, how am I going to find him? I know nothing. What did they tell me?" He waved his hand in a jerking motion before placing it placidly on his armrest. "My father was-is some kind of operative and he may not be dead but taken out of Spain to god knows where?!" His voice was raised slightly and shook his head in disbelief "and Wickham! He's hiding out in the militia?! Last they heard he was in Hertfordshire – some backwards county to the north." He nodded towards his framed map of England behind Richards head.

"I'll help, cousin." The earnest assurance was like a balm to Darcy's frayed nerves. He had been on his own so long he hadn't even thought to ask for help. He had always been alone. "At least they know vaguely where he is." Richard continued. "I can travel there and find him. He won't get away from me this time." The last was uttered through teeth so tightly clenched he was in danger of cracking them.

"Thank you." Darcy said solemnly. "I could use it. Wellesley said he has an operative in Hertfordshire I will meet with him tomorrow before traveling there."

Richard cleared his throat and a slightly smug look crossed his face. "She."

"What?" Darcy said in a sharper tone than he had intended.

"The operative. I believe Wellesley has assigned you to a lady. I haven't met her but I just came from my new appointment, the General knows of her work. She's good." Richard nodded and his lips curved up even more when his cousins usually blank demeanor changed to that of unmitigated shock.

"For a man who's read and agreed with Wollstonecraft, your shock is rather amusing." Richards smug taunt brought Darcy out of his stupor. The tease brightened his mood even further but Darcy schooled his features back to the unamused look Richard was accustomed to seeing.

"That comparison is weak, Richard, and you know it." He was back to his droll, emotionally blank voice. "Working with a woman just seems rather… tricky."

"Yes, I imagine it could be. Very, very tricky." The bastard's shoulders were shaking with repressed laughter and Darcy debated adding another cousin to the list of people he was planning to kill slowly and painfully.


	2. Chapter 2

**Nowhere near Darcy House**

 **London, England**

Miss Elizabeth Abigail Bennet, second daughter of Sir Thomas Edward Bennet of Hertfordshire was a dead woman.

If the two rather large gentlemen chasing her succeeded in their task they would no doubt see to it in a rather painful fashion. She attempted to put this thought from her mind as she walked as fast as a proper lady could down the sidewalk. She stopped abruptly and turned into a side alleyway, one she had stocked the day before for just such an occasion. Opening a large box perched next to fortuitously placed crates, she pulled out the absolute ugliest hat in existence. Her favorite disguise. The puce colored monstrosity sported a full headdress of long plumes, varying in color but none of them subtle. Hiding in plain sight had always been her modus operandi. She pinned the hat on quickly before grabbing the parasol she had also hidden and exiting the alley in a regal fashion. She hadn't strutted ten steps before she heard the loud footfalls of the gentlemen chasing her. They had come up the alley next to the one she had changed in and they passed her quickly and with complete disregard to individuals in their way.

With a slight shake of her head she decided the title of gentlemen was quite the misnomer.

Elizabeth was not fool enough to feel the danger had entirely passed but she couldn't help the lessening of tension in her shoulders. She stopped and crossed the busy street as quickly as she was able before entering a rambling park. She kept to the heavily populated areas only, though she was personally more keen to enjoy the less fashionable scenic routes, and kept a sharp eye on her surroundings. She smiled knowingly as she caught glimpses of wide eyes following her movement.

Well, following her hat.

When asked later, none of them would be able to give an accurate description of the woman underneath the mess of feathers.

On the other side of the park she was able to hail a hackney to take her to the other side of town where she exited four blocks from her true destination and wandered in and out of shops before settling in at her rendezvous point.

Gunter's tea shop was crowded, Elizabeth had made it to the shop just after four in the afternoon and the fashionable crowd were beginning to descend upon the eatery in earnest. She walked in and ordered herself a tea before sitting in a chair opposite a gentleman reading a newspaper. She sipped her tea daintily and stood, leaving her reticule on the table. The gentleman moved his newspaper in front of the reticule and surreptitiously pulled it into his lap. As Elizabeth turned to walk away he flagged her down and handed her a second, similar reticule.

"Oh, how forgetful of me!" She very nearly squealed, maintaining her disguise. "Thank you, kind sir. I was just off to the shops, this would have been missed." She smiled and turned to walk away before the man could reply. He rarely did.

"The Bishop'll be looking for his part." He said, very nearly to her back.

She stopped suddenly, her extremities numbing immediately, and turned her head to the side slightly to see the man nod. She straightening her spine and departed the shop.

Wellesley wanted to see her.

Nothing good ever came from that man.

/

Elizabeth trudged up the stairs to the foreign minister's office with dainty yet leaden steps. Her dread seemed to be manifesting itself in her feet as they begrudgingly carried her forward.

She took a deep, calming breath as she reached the top of the stairs only to have it forced from her lungs as she collided with a wall.

A wonderfully scented wall.

The wall pushed her backwards before she regained her senses and stepped aside. The wall in question turned out to be a devastatingly handsome man with a face of stone and eyes of ice. He did not seem to notice her in the least, nor did his steps falter as he made his way with single minded intensity down the stairs she had just climbed.

She tilted her head to the side as she watched him momentarily. He seemed to radiate grief and she had the unnerving desire to comfort him.

She shook her head in disbelief before turning again to face her fate.

The anteroom to the foreign minister's office was occupied by a diminutive man with round spectacles perched precariously on the end of his nose. Elizabeth was delighted to see Mr. Marley again.

"Mr. Marley, you are fully recovered!"

The man stood behind his desk, barely reaching the same height as Elizabeth and bowed low.

"So you see, Miss Bennet. I feel good as new." He bent his leg at the knee a few times so as to prove his claim and Elizabeth laughed.

"I am so glad to hear it, how long have you been back?" She couldn't help but glance at the door behind him, her wariness written on her face.

Mr. Marley ignored her question and addressed her facial expression instead. "Don't you worry, Miss Bennet." He soothed in a quiet voice. "I will leave the door cracked when I show you in and I will be right outside. He won't try again, 'tis not in his nature." He smiled at her and his cheeks pushed his spectacles high on his face.

She couldn't help but be bolstered by the man. She nodded to him and he straightened bringing her around his desk to the door and patting her arm in comfort before opening it to announce her arrival.

"Miss Bennet to see you, Your Lordship."

Wellesley didn't bother to look up from the paper he was reading and Elizabeth moved to stand in front of his desk. True to his word, Marley kept the door slightly ajar. Wellesley eventually looked up, eyes narrowing at the open door before turning his glare on Elizabeth.

"Miss Bennet." His cadence was clipped and his tone that of a severely annoyed man.

Elizabeth curtsied. "Your Lordship. You wished to see me?"

He looked at her for a long while, staring openly and sizing her up and down. Her stomach turned slightly and every fiber of her being wanted to run through the open door but she would not offer him the pleasure of seeing her squirm.

She straightened her small shoulders and glared back at him.

"Have you thought of my offer, Miss Bennet?"

"No, Your Lordship, I have not, my answer remains the same." She made every attempt to word her response as evenly and business like as she could, not wanting to upset the man but also wanting to maintain a firm stance.

He narrowed his eyes further. "You aren't getting any younger, Miss Bennet and I am a generous man." He raised his eyebrows at her as though imparting important knowledge.

She held back her shudder by a thread.

"Thank you, Your Lordship, I have no doubt. But my answer is still no."

He shrugged. "Ah, well, I will find someone else." He looked at her pointedly. "Someone much younger I dare say."*

Elizabeth grit her teeth to fight back a scalding retort.

"On to business." Wellesley switched gears easily and quickly. "Please, be seated." He motioned for the chair near her.

"My resources are pulled thin, Miss Bennet, I need you for an assignment that is not your norm." He pulled an already open envelop from atop a pile of papers and handed it to her across the desk. "I need you to aid in locating this man." He nodded to the envelope in her hands and she pulled from the top a sketched portrait of a stately gentleman. "Do you recognize him, Miss Bennet?"

Elizabeth studied the picture, she did feel some sort of recognition but not necessarily for the man in the picture. She looked up to Wellesley, puzzled. "No, My Lord, should I?"

He chuckled humorlessly. "I don't expect you would have been in the same social sphere, no, Miss Bennet. But he was a well known individual. That is the Duke of Montagu."

Elizabeth's puzzlement deepened. She had heard of the Duke but only in that he had a reputation for making debutants (and even an Earl or two) cry. Her eyebrows nearly met in the middle as she tried to reconcile this elder gentlemen with the scorching remarks she had been told came from his mouth.

"You need my aid in locating the Duke?" She couldn't keep the incredulity from her voice.

"Well, yes." He snapped. "Why else would I have asked you here?" She didn't actually want to reply to that. "That is the former Duke. He also contracted with the crown to serve in our time of need and was, for many years, our greatest asset." He looked her triumphantly as though she should somehow take that as an insult either to herself or to her father. She took absolutely no offense. She was too busy wondering what could have possibly motivated this man to sign a contract similar to what her father had done.

Being given a knighthood would not mean much to a Duke.

Wellesley went on to explain the circumstances of the Dukes abduction and assumed death.

She felt bad for his children, wondering if the Duke had somehow worked off his contract enough that his children wouldn't suffer the completion.

That was an existence she didn't wish on anyone.

"You will need to aid the current Duke in locating his father." Elizabeth was startled from her thoughts by this revelation and began a protest that was cut off by His Lordship. "I know, Miss Bennet, you value deeply your spotless reputation." He sneered the words out. "But, if you are successful in this venture I will consider your fathers contract forgiven." She gaped at the man. Shock and longing and fear present on her face.

Two years. He was offering to give her her freedom two years early.

"I will do it." Her voice was hardened steel and her heart threatened to burst through her chest.

"Good. I thought so." He stood behind his desk and nodded a bow. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have matters with which to attend."

Elizabeth got up from her chair dazedly and might have curtsied. If she did it was purely from muscle memory as she couldn't recall. She pushed through the open door and nearly stumbled into Mr. Marley, standing sentry outside.

"Are you well, Miss Bennet?" The grandfatherly man asked solicitously.

She nodded to him, and after a moment came back to her senses. "Yes, thank you, Mr. Marley." She smiled a flat lipped smile. "Did you hear?"

Mr. Marley smiled at her. "It won't be so bad, Miss Bennet. Here." He handed her an envelope of papers. "Here is all the contacts you will need. And I have arranged for you to use the house to meet with His Grace." He patted her arm kindly. "You can do this, Miss Bennet."

She smiled at the kind man and prayed he was right.

/

 **A Cramped Carriage**

 **Just outside London**

Miss Jane Marie Bennet, first daughter of Sir Thomas Edward Bennet of Hertfordshire had, at eight and twenty, come to the shocking, and unbidden conclusion that everyone dies.

Everyone.

No matter your natural beauty, no matter your natural grace, death comes to all.

It shouldn't have affected her as much as it had. Death was, after all, as natural as her sky blue eyes and her flaxen blonde hair.

Jane had never particularly paid much attention to her looks. She knew herself to be much admired but it truly meant nothing to her. When you have something of which you made no effort to attain, you had no notion of it's value. She certainly hadn't lost her good looks, despite what her mother might say, nor had she suddenly become an ungraceful clod. But, when her mother moved seamlessly between declaring her the savior of the family after Papa's accident to declaring her youngest sister Lydia the last hope of the Bennets, she suddenly realized her worth. Her true worth had and, if she made no changes, always would be defined by her looks.

This revelation rocked the serene, even keeled Jane to the core.

This revelation is why she found herself scrunched uncomfortably in the mail coach heading to London to help her sister shoulder the family burden.

This revelation is what gave her the courage to tell the large woman eating an equally large turkey leg next to her that she was sitting on her dress and pulling her down with it. She couldn't help but sit straighter after she felt the rush of power well up inside her chest.

Jane Bennet was a spinster. She was no longer valued solely for her looks. She would henceforth be defined by her strength and fortitude even in the face of scowling old women who really made her want to run the other way.

And, damn if she wasn't proud of this revelation.

A/N: * Wellesley was the foreign minister at this time and was, much like his younger brother the Duke of Wellington, a well known womanizer. His first wife was a french actress, he had 5 children with her before finally marrying her and legitimizing their kids. He was never faithful and had a long string of mistresses. Towards the end of his life it is documented one of them was a teenager.

Ew.

Different standards, certainly.

Also, the Napoleonic Wars saw the first major uptick in espionage, primarily fueled by the revolution in France. For the most part, their methods were similar to what we still use today, lots of discrediting of officials and general subterfuge. The contractual situation I describe has no basis in fact, I just made it up, but many of the situations I will describe have basis in fact. The Napoleonic Wars were pretty stinking intriguing.

Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Matlock House**

 **London**

Major General Richard Arthur Fitzwiliam, second son of the Earl of Matlock, war hero of the Peninsula, lay in his over stuffed bed, staring up at a sumptuously thick curtained canopy and wishing fervently that he were dead.

When he closed his eyes, he could briefly pretend it were so before images of his fallen brothers would assail him. The guilt he felt at simply surviving his tour of the peninsula when so many, too many, far better men hadn't was eating away at his sanity and making sleep elusive.

Dead or asleep, he didn't rightly care at the moment, so long as he was no longer conscious.

The sun was casting its first rays across the sky and flickers were entering the slivers of space between his curtains. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and rubbed his upper thigh. The bullet that had pierced his leg had gone through his commanding officer first, making it more shrapnel than bullet. The muscles of his leg were mangled but functional.

 _Small mercies._

He dressed slowly but methodically. He would need to make an appearance at the Defense Ministry before he was to help Darcy survive his first meeting with his… well, with his lady.

Richard smirked. He would need to save that to use it on the dour Duke.

He made his way slowly down the stairs, refusing to limp, or to at least acknowledge that he now had a limp. It was small enough that most wouldn't, and didn't, notice.

It was big enough that Richard despised himself for it.

He reached the breakfast room just as the warming trays had been placed. It was a bit early for such things but he paid no mind. He instead made his way to the sideboard his father had stocked, much to his mother's chagrin, with alcohol for in the case of overindulgence the night before. He poured himself a brandy, probably too full for before he broke his fast but it dulled his senses enough to start the day. He sat down at the table as far from the newspaper as he could. He had no desire to read of the heroics of war.

He, more so than most, knew better.

Lady Matlock came bursting through the doors in a huff, frightening Richard. His hand went to his sword belt unconsciously and he very nearly drew a weapon on his mother. His hands began to shake as he realized what he had almost done.

"Oh, Richard. Do sit down." She sashayed to the warming trays before Richard could offer to make her a plate. "Have you seen your father? Why he must wake the entire house at this ungodly hour for this _saffron_ business is beyond -" She stopped and looked to him and her sudden, rather dramatic, inhalation let him know she had seen his glass. "Richard Arthur Fitzwiliam! Is that **brandy?!"**

Lord Matlock came strolling in at this moment, holding his head as though it were precious. "Ohhh" he groaned. "I do hope so."

"Not you, _Matlock_. Richard! Richard is drinking _brandy_ at the breakfast table." Richard felt the indignation in his mother's voice was a little over the top.

"Oh ho, my boy. Best thing for it." His father leaned over to whisper conspiratorially. "I was a trifle disguised myself last night." He straightened and addressed Lady Matlock. "Now, stop bothering the boy. Man's a war hero, he can celebrate all he wants."

Lady Matlock huffed and Lord Matlock poured a matching glass of brandy before clinking glasses with his youngest son and making a triumphant face at his wife.

Major General Richard Arthur Fitzwiliam found himself once again staring at the ceiling, wishing fervently that he were dead.

*****/

 **A fashionable town home**

 **Near Matlock House**

Darcy had come to the decision that the emotion winding its way through his gut was _trepidation_. He was quite certain he was qualified to identify the feeling as he vaguely remembered experiencing something similar in the summer of '98. He had just taken over the estate fully from his absent father and was an overwhelmed youth trying to fill a man's shoes.

He did not like it then and he most certainly did not appreciate it now.

His well sprung carriage stopped in front of a fashionably situated town home at precisely the appointed hour and he was again grateful for a meeting on neutral ground. The beauty of taking tea at a house rented frequently by visiting diplomats was that, while it might be commented on, it would be a comfortable place to meet a lady and speak with her privately without ruining reputations. He shuddered at the thought.

Grateful but, as he had astutely assessed earlier, still filled with trepidation.

His footman opened the door to the carriage and he descended quickly, attempting to hide his face by awkwardly tilting his head forward so the brim of his beaver skin could shade his countenance. His chin touched his cravat, scrunching, and more than likely entirely ruining, the hard work of his valet.

His subterfuge was for naught, however, as he was immediately assaulted by a deep voice hailing him.

"Your Grace!" The voice, while the deep timbre of a male was pitched higher in clear excitement. "Montagu! Is that you?!"

Darcy lifted his head and groaned inwardly. The Earl of Sumner nearly tripped on his own feet rushing towards him, smiling so wide Darcy could see the blacker teeth in the back.

"Yes, Sumner." He nodded a bow. "How do you do?"

"Capital! Just the man I wanted to see!" The Earl was very nearly bouncing as he bowed, barely executing the movement before losing his already tenuous balance, only to be steadied by his beautiful, and clearly abashed, daughter.

"Your Grace." Lady Agatha greeted him with a deep curtsy, bending at the waist so her cleavage very nearly fell from her dress. As she rose, she graced Darcy with a smoldering look. A look she had mastered well since he had last seen her.

"Lady Agatha" Darcy bowed.

"Your Grace!" The Earl continued enthusiastically "allow me to be the first to tell you of a marvelous opportunity just coming to light." The Earl drew selective vowels out far longer than necessary in what Darcy assumed was a misguided attempt to make his offer seem enticing.

It was an ineffective tactic.

"Thank you, Sumner, I am sure it is an excellent opportunity but I am now late for an appointment. If you will excuse me." Darcy bowed to the two and made a move to leave them before the Earl interrupted his movement.

"Wait!" His screech was bordering on rude and his face paled when Darcy whipped back to him, a thunderous expression hardened on his face. The Earl's throat worked hard to swallow, making his Adam's apple bounce nervously. "I mean, if you please, Your Grace." He bowed and held out a snuff box as though presenting a knight with his sword.

Darcy was now thoroughly confused. "I never touch the stuff." His voice was gruff and he had no intention of hiding his annoyance. "Good day." He left off the bow this time and turned back to the stairs.

"No!" Sumner very nearly shouted his desperate plea. Darcy turned back to him, annoyance turning murderous. "Your Grace!" Sumner laughed a stilted, awkward laugh before his daughter pulled the snuff box from her father's hand. She approached Darcy with a shimmy of her hips.

"Your Grace, what my father means is this is not snuff." She shook the box. "This is a small sample of the _saffron_ " she rolled her R's dramatically and unnecessarily "which will be forthcoming. My father has been able to procure eight _bushels_ by rescuing it from poor Spanish farmers." She sketched a sympathetic face as though she had any idea what the life of a poor Spanish farmer might be like. "Please, take this small sample." Her father made a choking sound next to her but she ignored it in favor of batting her eyelashes.

Darcy could not possibly get away fast enough.

"Thank you." He took the snuff box before she could caress his hand in the exchange. He knew the tricks by now. "Lady Agatha, Lord Sumner" he nodded to both and turned on his heel to walk briskly up the front stoop.

Lady Agatha and Lord Sumner stood at the bottom watching him as he did so, wide, wooden, and very nearly matching smiles plastered to their faces. His knock was answered quickly by an ancient butler and Darcy rushed the man in his desperation.

The butler was 94 if he was a day but took no time in assessing the situation. He glared at the still fawning father and daughter with an unexpected ferocity before shutting the door with more force than necessary.

Darcy immediately liked the butler.

"Good morning, Your Grace." Not a shake to his voice and his bow was exquisite.

Darcy handed him his hat and gloves silently, gratitude surging through him as he made it inside the house without another proposition being made.

He was always hunted. Either marriage or money, someone wanted something from him at all times.

"If you will follow me, your guest is set to arrive presently." Again, his voice was strong and his gate was, though slower than that of a youth, steady as stone.

The butler opened an ornate set of double doors just down the main hallway.

"If you will wait here, Your Grace." He motioned for the Duke to enter the room and Darcy passed him to do so. Before he could fully enter, the butler stopped him, looking him full in the eyes as he did so. "I would protect her with what life I have left, Your Grace." He raised his eyebrows pointedly. "Do not make me do so." The butler's face was placid as Darcy's, showing nothing but a hard, wrinkled exterior. Darcy had no doubt he would follow through with the implied threat.

He nodded to the butler, receiving an answering nod, and accepting his words for what they were. Before moving inside to await a woman who, he now knew, inspired incredible loyalty in those around her.

As though it were possible, he was more confused than ever.

*****/

"Good morning, Mr. Shipley!" Elizabeth greeted the butler with a smile. "I hadn't thought to see you here. Are you well? Did you receive my basket?"

"Miss Bennet." The butler bowed formally and immaculately especially considering his advanced age. "I am as you see. Though, perhaps slightly more of me after I ate your shortbread." He winked at her but his face remained impassive. "Mr. Marley contacted me so I would be here for you. Retirement, I am afraid, does not sit well with me." A ghost of a smile graced his weathered face only to be replaced with a slight wince when she handed him her hat.

No one liked that hat.

She thought it was perhaps the taxidermied pheasant that bothered most. Orange wasn't the greatest color choice, either.

He looked behind Elizabeth's shoulder and his eyebrows raised ever so slightly. "I see you have brought in reinforcements, my dear." He bowed low to Jane.

"Indeed. Only the very best." Elizabeth smiled wide. "Mr. Shipley, please meet the real Miss Bennet, my sister."

Jane moved forward hesitantly at first but seemed to remember herself halfway through, executing a perfect curtsy before raising her head and squaring her shoulders.

"It is wonderful to meet you, Mr. Shipley, Lizzie has told me much of you over the years."

"Lizzie, is it?" Mr. Shipley raised a single eyebrow to Elizabeth.

Elizabeth chuckled. "I was young once as well, Mr. Shipley."

"Yes. I had assumed as much." His tone was dry but his mirth apparent. "Thank you, Miss Bennet, I am glad to meet you." He had genuine warmth in his voice. "Now. Ladies, if you will follow me, I will show you to the library. Your guest awaits." He looked knowingly at Elizabeth before turning to lead them through the ornately appointed house.

They passed large, gilt framed paintings of rustic scenery and delicate pottery before Elizabeth looked back to her sister. The anxiety she felt was written plainly over her features. Even if it weren't, her attempted strangulation of her poor handkerchief would have given it away.

"Jane." Elizabeth whispered. "Everything will be fine, I swear it." It was easy to feel brave in the face of a loved one's fear. Elizabeth dearly wished it were she strangling her handkerchief and worrying over this meeting. Lord knows she had done so all night.

Jane stopped her wringing hands and took a deep breath, lifting her chin as she did so. She primly placed her now thoroughly wrinkled handkerchief in her overstuffed reticule and looked up at her sister, very nearly with defiance.

"I know it, Lizzie." She didn't bother to whisper and Elizabeth enjoyed these new shows of boldness from her incessantly tranquil sister. "I am worried for you, it can't be helped." She turned her eyes forward and followed Mr. Shipley with a determined step.

Elizabeth smiled wide. After so long of carrying this burden on her own, having her sister here with her, even strangling a handkerchief, was like a balm to her frayed nerves.

Before she could retort, Mr. Shipley stopped at the library doors.

"Mr. Shipley, I believe I will leave Miss Bennet in the room next to this until I can assess the situation, will that do?"

He nodded his assent and waved them to the room next door.

Jane's face was cool, a blank, angelic expression masking her features. "Lizzie, are you absolutely certain I can not stay with you? I can not imagine the Duke would deny you a chaperone."

"I do not think he will either, Jane." Elizabeth nodded, her exasperation preemptively building. They had already had this argument thrice now. "But, this is a very sensitive subject for His Grace and I have no idea how he would react to bringing yet another person into his confidence." She smiled wryly. "I will have my hands full gaining as much myself." She moved to change the subject, she was firm on her stance to allow the Duke his privacy even if it did make her uncomfortable. "Do you remember what we spoke of last night?"

Jane's newfound confidence collapsed in on itself and she seemed to shrink as her face contorted. "About weaponry?!" she whisper-shouted, blue eyes wide with panic. "Oh, Lizzie, I couldn't - do you really believe it will come to that?"

"Of course not" she said with far more conviction than she felt. "But, it is always good to have in mind." she wagged her finger at her elder sister and smiled. "The best weapon in this room is the fire poker." she nodded her head to the fireplace mantle with the ironware neatly stored in its place. "However" she picked up a large volume of, oddly enough, poetry that had been left on a side table. "Never underestimate the power of a good book."

***** /

Darcy had grown impatient the moment he sat down, long before he heard muffled voices next door. Even sitting in a library, surrounded by the only happiness he had found in his life wasn't enough to keep his mind successfully relaxed. He jumped up and began pacing preparing himself for what was to come.

He was in the uncomfortable position of dreading a necessary task, something he had thought far beneath him. As a Duke, he would dread _every_ task necessary if he allowed himself to feel such things.

The primary issue he struggled with, and the unfortunate meeting on the front stairs brought this point to light, was that he could not fathom the type of woman who would _want_ to work in this way. Either some foolhardy, adventure seeking type in which case they would, under no uncertain terms, never be trusted. Or, perhaps worse, some woman of the ton hoping to corner a rich husband. Just the thought of _either_ of these possibilities set his palms to sweating.

Would either of these types engender such fierce loyalty in a butler? His mind was awhirl with possibilities.

All the possibilities he could imagine involved his, and for some scenarios his entire family's, inevitable doom.

By the time the handle was squeezed lightly to signal the arrival of his guest, Darcy had worked himself into a bit of a frenzy, his breath coming heavy and his broad chest heaving.

He stood in the middle of the room, where he had stopped pacing to watch his doom enter, when the butler announced his visitor.

"Miss Elizabeth Bennet, Your Grace." The butler bowed and the announced woman entered the room behind him, a full, genuine smile gracing her lips.

His doom was beautiful.

Not just, or not quite, the type of beauty glorified by the fashionable crowd but the type of beauty he couldn't take his eyes from. The type of beauty that demanded he memorize the exact distance between her eyes and the exact slope of her cheek bones so he could bring an exact picture to mind later.

"Your Grace." Her voice was a melodic contralto. She curtsied perfectly and stood straight, her posture graceful but strong, lacking the rigidity of someone forcing a straight backed stance but still tense as though ready to strike if necessary.

She was fascinating in her unexpectedness. Shorter and thinner than was fashionable but perfectly proportional. Her mess of curls precariously fastened to her head seemed, at once, a thing of beauty and a caged animal barely kept in check by its applied barriers. He wondered what it felt like. He quirked his head to the side as he examined her, debating whether her hair felt like silk or cotton softened from a lifetime of washing, entirely caught up in his relieved perusal.

She began taking small steps towards the fireplace, keeping her eyes trained on him but stealing small, longing glances at the fire.

"Are you cold, Madam?" He made a sweeping gesture towards the fireplace.

Her lips quirked into a secret smile, as though she laughed at an inside joke. "No, Your Grace." Her words belied her feelings as she stole another glance at the fire. Darcy followed her eyes and realized with a shock that she was staring at the _fire iron_.

She was uncomfortable.

 _He_ made her uncomfortable. A man of whom nearly every woman in England would have claimed compromise as soon as the butler shut the door.

"Are you _uncomfortable_ , Miss Bennet?" His voice was equal parts solicitous and incredulous.

"Elizabeth. _Miss_ Elizabeth, Your Grace." She corrected distractedly with a small, awkward laugh before looking again at the fire iron.

"Are you planning to bludgeon me, Miss Elizabeth?"

Her brown eyes widened in shock and her lips formed a perfect "o" before she smiled wide and laughed. Her laugh washed over him like a soft blanket and he couldn't hold back the chuckle that escaped his throat.

"Was I so obvious, Your Grace?" her smile turned wry and she shook her head. "The situation is rather uncomfortable but I would never hurt you." She paused briefly and looked up at him, eyes bright with mischief. "But don't tempt me."

He had now been threatened twice in as many hours, a crime given his title, and he didn't seem to mind either.

Something was clearly wrong with him.

"Let us sit." She continued. "I believe Mr. Shipley will have tea sent in shortly. We have much to discuss." She walked towards him to sit on the settee nearby and he fought the urge to touch her as she walked past, knowing full well that would have warranted a bludgeoning.

She slipped past him and sat, on the very edge of the couch, body tensed as though preparing to run at any moment. Her beautiful brown eyes looked around the room awkwardly before he realized he was still standing over her, staring.

He groaned internally.

Anne would have laughed until she couldn't breath if she could see him now.


	4. Chapter 4

**Still in a Fashionably Situated Townhome**

 **London, England**

Elizabeth Bennet had to clench her jaw slightly to stop herself from squirming. She was normally not the type of woman to ever, under any sort of scrutiny, find herself _wanting_ to fidget but she defied _anyone_ to stay perfectly still while a very tall, very handsome, but very angry Duke _loomed_ over them.

The gentleman had yet to take his intense gaze from her and it unnerved her more than she had ever known.

Her own eyes began skipping over objects and book spines unseeing, in a frantic attempt to redirect the glowering Duke's attention.

Thankfully, but only after she began sweating profusely, he seemed to remember himself and sat, imperiously, across from her.

"Miss Elizabeth, have you any experience with a… situation such as this?"

After five years of information gathering she could not stop the pang of annoyance at being questioned but she quashed it quickly. She understood his perspective, she wasn't entirely certain _she_ would be comforted by a small (but, well read!) woman coming to her aid.

Elizabeth maintained a cool mien, folding her hands in her lap and sitting ever so straighter in her seat. "No, Your Grace, this is absolutely outside of my normal purview." She held up her hand to stop a retort which didn't actually seem to be forthcoming. "Before you protest, I will tell you that I understand your situation well and I am privy to information which will aid in our mission."

He narrowed his eyes at her as though he did not like what she had just said.

"My cousin is a Major General recently filling a post with the War Office. What, _pray tell_ , do you know that he wouldn't?" His voice was calm and dry and laced with just enough incredulity that Elizabeth flushed with indignation.

"I am sure I could not tell you what your Cousin _does not_ know, Your Grace." she smiled sweetly. "However, my Uncle is a very successful tradesman and, as you _may_ know, those in trade are some of the ministries most valued intelligence gatherers. _He_ is one of those individuals." she nodded as though the argument were settled.

"Then, perhaps your uncle could help me?" He gave a dismissive wave of the hand which infuriated her further. "I would much rather work with the source of this _information_ than receive it second hand. Do you stay with this Uncle? Perhaps I could call on you there to meet him."

She gritted her teeth to keep her brittle smile in place. "He left just this morning for Belgium, Your Grace. The French are moving their forces and I am afraid most of us are scattering."

"But you are not Miss Elizabeth."

"No." She was going to need to start breathing deeply to keep her retorts thoughtful. "As I said, this is not within my normal purview but I am your best choice at the moment."

"I find that hard to believe. There must be someone more… _appropriate."_

If Elizabeth didn't desperately need His Grace to accept her aid she would have curtsied to him with all the grace and aplomb she could muster and walked from the room.

"Be that as it may, Wellesley assigned me to you, I am sure he had your best interest in mind." She didn't actually believe those words but she needed this argument to be over.

"Again, Miss Elizabeth, I find that hard to believe."

 _Insufferable man._

"Tell me what you would not find hard to believe and I will work with that, Your Grace." She snapped back before she could stop herself.

His response, the last thing she would have ever expected, was to smile at her. His full lips spread wide showing off impossibly white teeth and transforming his already handsome features into something very nearly ethereal.

She was fairly certain her slack jawed surprise was not equally as enchanting.

She was saved from struggling to answer when a knock sounded at the door. Two men entered after pushing a bedraggled tea try in ahead of them.

Elizabeth immediately recognized the danger.

Neither man was wearing the house uniform and the tea tray was both in disarray and only seemed to be half laid. She looked nervously to the Duke who hadn't spared the men a second glance.

Elizabeth stood and spun around to stand in front of the Duke. One of the men grinned menacingly at her show of protection.

"Miss Elizabeth! What is-" he was stopped from continuing by the grinning man speaking.

"You won't get away from us this time, _puteresse_." His leering smile made her blood boil even as she had to struggle to understand his thick French accent. "Gustav, kill the man" he spoke to his companion and nodded towards Elizabeth but was clearly meant for the Duke, now standing behind her. "He wants the girl _alive_ " he turned fully to Gustav. " _**Don't**_ _**forget this time**_." He admonished, oddly patiently, somewhat akin to teaching a child to keep from practicing their letters on important documents.

Gustav was a rather unkempt man, even standing next to his matted partner, his appearance matching perfectly to the stench winding its way to Elizabeth's nose as he moved closer. The lack of proper cleaning of his body was inversely proportional to the immaculately clean, devastatingly sharp knives he pulled from his waist belt.

Elizabeth could feel His Grace place a hand on her shoulder and she knew what he was going to do. Before he could pull her behind him, she spun out of his hands, arms wide and flailing ungainly. She hit Gustav in the upper arm with her limbs causing him to drop his knives.

She bent and picked one up before grabbing the Duke by the hand and pulling him the opposite direction, towards the book shelves lining the walls. The men had crowded the only exit they could see so Elizabeth pulled the Duke further into the shelving with her.

Where Gustav was slow to react to the impromptu attack, his partner was on the ready and advanced quickly, his dazed but still foul smelling partner joined him soon enough.

There was unfortunately a severe lack of bookshelves in which they could hide until someone came to their aid and they quickly found themselves cornered against a wall, in between two tall shelves, laden with books. The narrow space in between the shelves kept them safe on their sides but, out-weaponed, it wouldn't hold.

Elizabeth immediately began emptying the bookshelves and throwing their contents at the encroaching attackers. The Duke began emptying the higher shelves, his arms strong and his throws brutal when they landed.

Elizabeth looked up at him when her shelf was nearly empty, the intense look on his face almost an understatement considering their precarious predicament. Just past His Grace, gleaming like a beacon of hope on the wall was a large wooden placard, displaying not only an unrecognizable coat of arms but two swords, interlocked with the carved crest.

"Above you!" Elizabeth shouted to the Duke and began to throw books with both her hands, grabbing and throwing as fast as she could. Her throws were far less effective than his, however and the men pressed in on them quickly.

Luckily, His Grace was just as quick. He pulled the crest from the wall and tried to pull out a sword, only to have it stick. He tried the other but they were both stuck fast. He began shaking the large carving to try and dislodge the swords but was ineffective.

"Blast!" He yelled in frustration as the only accessible weapons proved themselves inaccessible.

The men had both stopped momentarily to gape at the Duke struggling with a wooden crest before continuing their path, now only slightly impeded by Elizabeth's literary onslaught.

His Grace pushed Elizabeth behind him, forcing her against the wall when she had run out of books within her reach. He stood before her squaring off with the two armed men, holding the carved wooden crest like a shield.

The small of Elizabeth's back ached and it took her but a moment to register a handle sticking directly into the base of her spine.

It was a good pain. The best, even. And, at this point, their very last hope for survival.

She surged forward, pushing the Duke out of her way and yelling "Throw it!" to His Grace. She pulled her pilfered knife from her pocket and threw it with all her might at one of the attackers, smacking him in the face with the blunt end and possibly leaving a small bruise.

All three men stopped to stare at her, none comprehending what she was doing.

"Miss Elizabeth, what are you doing?" The Duke growled at her.

"Trust me" She kept her eyes on the two bedraggled men but pleaded out of the corner of her mouth to the Duke. "Throw it!" she nodded her head in an exaggerated fashion towards the men in front of them. He did so without hesitation this time, knocking both men into each other with a violent throw. She pulled him backwards, grabbing the concealed handle and opening, thankfully without so much as a squeak, the door built directly into the wooden paneling in between the large shelves.

If she lived, she would need to thank the housekeeper.

The two of them slammed the door shut behind them and placed their backs against it to stop Gustav and his friend from following. They were both out of breath, chests heaving and wide eyed while the men pounded on the door and cursed them viciously.

In between the walls, as they were, they were able to hear a door opening to the room next to the library followed by a high pitched screech and a thud.

Terror exploded in Elizabeth's chest.

 _Jane._

"My sister!" Elizabeth whispered to the Duke, pleading for something she could not name but _anything_ that would save her sister.

He looked down to her, eyebrows knit in question, both of them vibrating slightly from the attempts to push through their door.

The Duke opened his mouth to respond but the handle to the corresponding door in the room next to them began to jiggle and they simultaneously turned back. Fear and dread coursed through Elizabeth like it had infected her blood.

She wound her small hand into the Duke's much larger one and squeezed, the solidity of the connection anchoring her in that moment.

The door opened a sliver and a masculine voice yelled into the gap. "You are heavily outnumbered, come out now and you may yet live."

The pounding on their door stopped abruptly and scuffling sounds could be heard from the library.

Elizabeth squeezed the Duke's hand so hard she was sure she saw him wince. He looked down to her, eyes intense, even in the dark.

"Trust me." he mimicked her earlier words in a soft whisper before pulling her forward. "Richard." He bellowed to the partially opened door. "If you run me through I will haunt you for the rest of your days."

The answering chuckle was deep and masculine. "I wouldn't dream of it, Cousin."

Elizabeth looked up to His Grace in question before the door fully opened, revealing a red coated, broad shouldered man with wild, sandy colored hair, a wide smile and a bleeding gash above his right eyebrow.

"Bloody Hell, Darcy, you gave me a fright." the man noticed Elizabeth at this point and looked immediately abashed. "I apologize, ladies." he bowed gallantly to Elizabeth then turned to bow again to the room.

 _Jane!_

Elizabeth rushed past the man, hand still clenched tightly to the Duke and yanking him with her into the room. She reluctantly relinquished her hold on his appendage when her sister ran to her and the women embraced in a crushing hug.

The Duke was the first to sober from the heady feeling of relief.

"We were attacked, we will need- wait, Richard, you're bleeding, did they come in here?" the Duke looked around the room frantically for a moment before Richard stopped him.

"No, we are safe from them in here, Cousin, I am perfectly fine."

The Duke looked at him dubiously and a small smirk graced Richards face.

"We were attacked" The Duke continued with the more pressing matter. "Our attackers could be coming through at any moment. We need to move." He looked pointedly at his cousin then held his hand out to Elizabeth and she instinctively took it. The foursome ran down the hallway, going the opposite direction as the library, looking for either an exit or help, whichever came first.

What came first was Mr. Shipley, charging down the hall as fast as he could holding a giant Brown Bess in both his hands.

"What happened?" He looked to each one of them individually, his wrinkled face hard as stone.

"We were attacked, Mr. Shipley. In the library... with knives. We _must_ hurry before they get away." Elizabeth turned to charge down the hallway, dragging His Grace with her. He quickly caught up with her, again, his long legs no match for her much shorter ones.

"Miss Elizabeth, I insist you stay here." His voice was demanding and hard and absolutely brooking no opposition. Fortunately for Elizabeth she had grown up with a mother who would wax similarly when speaking of lace.

"No, Your Grace." He pulled her to a stop and they glared at one another, each with a stubborn set to their face. Elizabeth watched as his nostrils flared and his face darkened in, what she assumed to be, unbridled anger.

Their standoff was broken when Mr. Shipley kicked open the library door with his foot and roared as he entered the room, prepared to shoot whatever happened to move first.

The room was unfortunately empty. Large windows against the far wall open, and the curtains fluttering. Mr. Shipley examined the periphery of the room thoroughly before checking the balcony outside the windows.

The aged butler came back to the foursome, looking much older than just a moment prior and sagging slightly.

"They have escaped." the dejection in his voice made Elizabeth want to comfort him. "Are all of you well?" He asked the group, eyeing the small gash on the Major General's forehead.

"I believe we are all uninjured, Mr. Shipley." Elizabeth went for a soothing tone. "But, I believe we could all do with some tea -"

"Miss Elizabeth!" she was cut off when the butler very nearly yelled at her. " _You_ are injured." he chided.

Elizabeth looked down to the hand not firmly clasped with the Duke to see blood dripping down her arm. She must have gotten sliced when she briefly disarmed Gustav but she had yet to feel any pain. She shrugged and tried to self consciously drop His Grace's hand but he held hers fast.

"I will live, Mr. Shipley." Her voice pulled the man back from glaring menacingly at the Duke. She looked between the two in question before continuing. "Perhaps you could bring some hot water with the tea and I will clean this cut."

"Of course, I won't be but a moment." He rushed, his bow borderline curt before he charged off to the kitchens. He turned before he had gone very far to ask them to await him in the blue room, on yet the other side of the library.

Elizabeth made to move towards the room in question but she was stopped by the Duke's still tight hold on her hand. She looked up into his scowl before trying again to walk away, only to be stopped in a similar fashion. Her world tilted suddenly as she was lifted in the air and cradled gently in the Duke's arms.

"Your Grace!" She screeched. "Put me down!"

"No." His voice was unyielding as he looked down his nose at her. "You are bleeding, Miss Elizabeth."

"My arm! My _arm_ is bleeding, not my leg. I am perfectly capable of walking."

"Blood loss can make you unsteady, we do not need you falling." He looked to his cousin, now striding next to them, and, shockingly, cradling Jane similarly in his arms. "Tell her."

The red coated man looked at her with serious intensity. "It's true, you shouldn't walk when you are bleeding."

"Jane, are you injured?" She asked her sister, who seemed far more comfortable than she should nestled in a stranger's arms.

"No, Lizzie, I am not." She said with, quite frankly, an annoying smile and her now favorite lift of the chin. "I have bandages in my reticule, I will tend your wound."

"You came very prepared, Miss." The man carrying her looked at her like she was some sort of angel fallen from the sky to tend wounds.

Jane smiled, still maddeningly. "I will need to tend yours as well, Sir." Her voice was sweet and pure and only irked Elizabeth further. "I apologize again for the book."

"No matter." the man responded quickly.

"Yes, Richard, how _did_ you receive that gash?" The humor in His Grace's voice was... unexpected.

Jane went visibly stiff before tilting her chin slightly higher. "I hit him." The Major General looked at her with dazed admiration and a wide smile. "With a book... I threw a book at him when he entered... I was frightened." She looked to His Grace as though fully prepared to visit a similar violence upon him should he take issue with her actions.

"A family trait, I see." He quirked an eyebrow at Elizabeth and she stifled the urge to roll her eyes.

The whole world had just gone mad.


	5. Ch 45

Darcy could tell Miss Elizabeth did not want to be in his arms but he could not find the motivation to care. She was perfect where she was, perfect in his arms and perfectly safe from harm.

At first he had been rather desperate to have someone else helping him in what he knew would be a dangerous venture. The very idea that this undersized lady, fitted so neatly in his embrace, would be placed in any sort of danger drew up protective instincts he had thus far only ever felt for his sister.

Except these feelings were a far cry from brotherly.

After the attack, knowing that the men were after her he had need to change his tactic. Now, he was struggling to find a way to keep her in his sight at all times. If he had to, and this would be no sacrifice on his part, he would keep her in his arms at all times.

"Your Grace." She brought him from his thoughts with her prodding. "Would you allow me to introduce my sister before she tends to my grievous wound?" the sarcasm in her voice only delighted him further. No one, beyond Richard, and certainly never a lady, spoke to him with such lack of deference. He found he thoroughly enjoyed it.

"Of course, Miss Elizabeth." He made no move to put her down, knowing full well that was her intention. "Richard, please meet Miss Elizabeth Bennet." Richard looked over absently and with an imbecilic smile gracing his face. "Miss Elizabeth, this is my cousin, Major General Fitzwilliam." Elizabeth made an exasperated sound and nodded her head to the man.

"I apologize, I am unable to curtsy, Major General." She looked up at Darcy with a glare that would have melted a weaker man.

"He has no need for a curtsy, do you Richard?" Darcy kept his eyes on hers so he could see them flash.

Richard chuckled. "No, Miss Elizabeth, I have no need for formalities but I am very happy to have met you." He turned back to smile jovially at the woman in his arms. Darcy found himself wishing he had an ounce of his easy demeanor.

Elizabeth smiled sweetly to him and he knew she thought she had outsmarted him. "But, my sister deserves a proper introduction, Your Grace. I am sure she will insist upon it." She spoke the last directly to her sister, who did not seem to notice.

"I am fine, Lizzie" Her sister cut in breathlessly, not taking her eyes from Richard. "as long as the Duke does not object." Darcy sent a silent thanks to her sister while Elizabeth trained her glare in that direction. It was, for all its ferocity, ineffective.

She cleared her throat as angrily as Darcy had ever heard. "Your Grace, this is my... " She made flustered sounds as though attempting to come up with an insulting adjective to describe her sister and failing. "Oh, this is my sister, Miss Bennet." She waved her hand between them as though dismissing the introduction she had just made.

"I am pleased to meet you, Miss Bennet." Darcy kept his tone formal and managed a small bow without losing his grip on Elizabeth.

Miss Bennet nodded to him gracefully, playing perfectly along with the formality and making Elizabeth turn as red as her arm.

Her arm.

"Does it hurt, Miss Elizabeth?" He asked in a low voice.

Her eyes flew to his, looking confused before the words seemed to register. "No, it-" she moved her arm slightly and couldn't hide her wince. "Yes. I suppose it does."

Darcy's jaw clenched, anger flooding him. "Miss Bennet, would you tend your sisters wound?"

Richard made a slight frown before recovering when he looked to the drops of blood on the carpet.

Miss Bennet sobered as well. "Yes, of course. Lizzie, does it hurt?" She asked as Richard righted her and held her shoulders to ensure she was stable to walk.

"It is a scratch, Jane, I will be fine." Darcy watched as her face became blank, hiding the pain he had witnessed just a moment prior. "Have you many bandages? It seems larger than I expected."

He could feel the blood leaving his face as he got a better look at her wound. The knife that sliced her was, indeed, very sharp as the wound was cut clean but long, much longer than he had thought.

There was an ache in his chest as he thought of her protecting him. No one, not even his parents, had ever thought of his protection. This imp of a woman, more odd than pretty but all the more beautiful for it, had been injured throwing herself in front of a knife meant for him.

The soft feeling inside him turned quickly to anger as he thought of her being in further danger, and away from where he could protect her.

"Miss Elizabeth" his voice came out much more harsh than he intended. "Why were those men after you?"

"I…" she started weakly before she narrowed her eyes at him and continued in a strong voice. "I took something of theirs and I believe they are none too pleased, Your Grace."

"Can you return it to them?"

"I am afraid information does not necessarily work that way." She raised one arched eyebrow mischievously.

He ground his teeth harder, now in danger of cracking them, as he placed her gently on the settee. Her sister was preparing the bandages she had stowed away in her reticule.

"You are not safe, then." His tone was almost accusatory.

She squared her shoulders as much as she could without moving her injured arm. "I have been doing this for five years, Your Grace. I believe myself to be capable of maintaining my safety."

As she had actually tried to protect him, he did not doubt her intent. But, he needed to know that she safe.

"I find that hard to believe, given the circumstances." He nodded to her arm and if her sister hadn't pulled her sleeve back and she had to bite her knuckle quickly to keep from yelling out, he was certain she would have throttled him.

"We will only be in London a few more days, I will manage." She continued through gritted teeth and only after a deep, calming breath. "I believe there is a man we need to intercept in Hertfordshire?"

Bringing up Wickham was no way to calm him. He was saved from saying something further in anger with the arrival of the actual tea tray.

The men made quick, if sloppy, work of making tea for the women and delivered their cups as well as the hot water before sitting opposite the ladies, waiting to continue the conversation.

"Like I was saying" Elizabeth picked back up. "What can you tell me of this man? The more I know, the more I can be of service."

Darcy took a sip of his tea and the nearly boiling liquid scalded his throat. He coughed lightly. "I know he will run if he thinks I, or my cousin, are within a twenty mile radius of Hertfordshire."

"Are you certain?"

Darcy had no desire to expound upon the subject so he nodded seriously.

"And you will be visiting a friend currently renting Netherfield?"

"Yes, Miss Elizabeth. Do you know the house?"

Elizabeth nodded absently, the machinations churning in her head nearly visible in her expressive brown eyes.

"How malleable would you say your friend in Hertfordshire is?"

"Very." He retorted, far too quickly.

"Does Mr. Wickham know Mr. Bingley?"

Darcy paused for a moment. Did he? Bingley had been a guest at Pemberley many times but Wickham and his father had been gone for years. Wickham only came back shortly some five years ago and he had stayed in Ramsgate. Darcy's jaw ticked at the memory.

"No, Miss Elizabeth, I do not believe he does."

Elizabeth looked thoughtful for a moment. "I have a plan." She beamed a bright smile at the Duke. "But you may not like it very much, Your Grace."

Darcy groaned inwardly.

Working with Miss Elizabeth was proving to be far trickier than he had ever imagined.

The foursome made their way to the door after Miss Elizabeth explained her plan (which, contrary to her opinion, he did not mind in the least). They needed to depart soon as they had already overstayed a typical morning call.

Mr. Shipley pulled a large pile of brush and feathers and possibly an animal, from the entryway closet and handed the monstrosity to Miss Elizabeth.

"Good God" he spat. "that is the ugliest hat I have ever seen." He stared open mouthed for a moment. "Is that a bird, Miss Elizabeth?!"

Her throaty laugh was his new favorite sound.

"It is, Your Grace. I utilize the more ridiculous side of fashion as a disguise of sorts." She lifted her head and smiled at him fully before carefully pinning the mess of feathers in place, effectively hiding herself from him.

She curtsied low. "I will see you in Hertfordshire. Travel well." She adjusted her hat as it slipped to one side, chuckling at Darcy's grimace. "Despise me if you dare, Your Grace." Her voice laden with mirth and a wide, impish grin peeking out from under feathers before turning on her heels.

A full chested laugh escaped Darcy's lips as she left.

"Indeed I do not dare, Miss Elizabeth."


	6. Chapter 5

Near Netherfield

Hertfordshire, England

If Darcy never stared at another tree again it would be too soon.

Hours. Hours. He had been staring at empty road and treeline, his naive eyes searching for a glimpse of the brown eyes he had been seeing every time he tried to fall asleep.

Not that sleep had been forthcoming, of course. The woman he had only just a few days prior gleefully (who knew he was even capable of such things?) compromised had been injured. Not just injured but she was being hunted.

Darcy gritted his teeth and fought the urge to hit something. He had been out of his mind with worry for days. Days. What if the men after her had succeeded? What if her injury turned septic? What if she decided not to help him? The plethora of 'what if's' kept his mind in a constant state of activity and his nerves frayed to the breaking point.

"What has your thoughts, cousin?" Richard pulled him from his revelry with a customary smile.

"Take your pick, Richard." He kept his voice disinterested, having no desire to explain his sudden, irrational and embarrassingly strong attraction for a girl neither classically pretty nor an heiress nor titled. He was a Duke for God's sake. "I was very nearly killed only a few days ago. My father is still missing and we need Wickham to find him." He made a circular motion with his hand "there is plenty to occupy my thoughts."

"Ah. And here I thought you were meditating on the great pleasure fine eyes in the face of a -"

"Oh, do shut up." If Darcy had had something to throw at him he would have. "It is difficult not to think of Miss Elizabeth… amidst everything else, of course." He cleared his throat uncomfortably before looking away.

Richard chuckled happily. "Yes, amidst everything else. Do you need to practice your new role with me, Mr. Darcy?"

Darcy turned a fierce glare on his cousin. "I am not your valet, Richard."

"Well, Miss Elizabeth did not say as much, per se, of course, but it would be an excellent touch. No one would ever recognize you as such. And, I have not had anyone dress me in quite some time. If I am not to wear my uniform, I will need assistance." His grin was absolutely ridiculous.

"I dare say you'll survive tying your own cravat for a day."

"Oh, but it just wouldn't be the same and you know it." What Darcy knew was that his cousin was in desperate need of a good jostling, his brain was clearly addled.

"Do you think this plan will work, Richard?" He flinched at the weak sound to his voice.

"Not at all." Richard laughed. "I said so then and I will say so now, no one, not even simple country folk would mistake you for anything other than the nobleman you are."

Darcy rolled his eyes.

"Now, if you were to be my valet, and keep your head down, very low, it might work."

Darcy's eyes were now in danger of disconnecting internally for their rolling.

"We just need to lay low for a day, Richard. Wickham will be returning to his regiment today and we will intercept him tomorrow. Two tradesmen meeting with Bingley should not excite any gossips."

"Cousin, you excite the gossips simply by breathing." Richards smile took on a mischevious bend. "Not to mention you have now successfully compromised a young lady."

"Yes. A first for me, I'm not a seasoned veteran like yourself." Darcy snapped playfully.

"Oh ho! You impinge my honor, cousin!" He answered in mock hurt. "Seriously, though, I would take many more books to the head if Miss Bennet would put her hands on me again." He raised his eyebrows. "Many. More." His smile was the happiest Darcy had seen his cousin in years.

"Miss Bennet seemed quite content in your arms."

"Yes, she did." He said on an exhale. "It's a shame I am not fit for a woman or I would have that one." A darkness passed over Richard's eyes, so fast Darcy was not positive he saw it before his easy smile replaced it. "And your Miss Elizabeth was shooting daggers at you the entire time." Richard had no problem laughing at the memory.

Darcy sighed, his lips curling into a small smile as the memory flooded his mind. "She has the most beautiful glare I have ever seen."

Richard laughed until he was clutching his stomach in pain.

Darcy smiled wide and looked away, the smile slowly fading into a serious, but still happy, look. "She saved my life, Richard." Reverence laced his words. "She stood between me and a knife, was injured for it and thought nothing of it." He looked back to Richard. "Can you believe that? I can not name another person in all of England, save you and maybe Georgie, who would do such a thing for me."

"No. I can name a few who might be on the knife's end, though."

Darcy let out a mirthless chuckle."Your brother, perhaps. Has he gotten his itching under control?"

"I wish he would. The man is like a feral dog." Richard stretched his legs noisily. "Only slightly less intelligent."

Darcy snorted at this accurate statement. "Your brother is the biggest idiot in England, Richard, I have no idea how the estate will survive when the earl passes."

Richard laughed. "Yes, well, if he mentions saffron again he may not be alive to claim either title."

Their levity was interrupted suddenly when their carriage came to an abrupt stop, their driver pulling back the reins hard to slow the horses. Both men had to brace themselves or find themselves sprawled across either the floor or the seat.

Darcy watched as Richard righted himself quickly, his body going completely still, his face losing all expression in a moment. His hand went to his sword belt and his eyes hardened further as he heard the loud neigh of another horse near them but clearly not theirs.

They were not alone.

Richard was out the door before they even came to a full stop.

And he was laid out flat by the time they did.

/

Darcy could not keep the smile from his face as he stared down at a prone Richard.

"Oh, I am so sorry!" Miss Bennet was digging through her reticule (seemingly also her weapon) and Richard was smiling up at her dazedly. "I am so sorry!" she articulated her words loudly and clearly as though trying to wake him up. She located a delicately embroidered handkerchief and bent down to push it into a small gash located directly opposite the one she had inflicted only a few days prior. "I will take care of you." She smiled into his face. "I really am very sorry to keep hitting you, I am not a violent person at all." She looked up at Darcy earnestly, with wide eyes. "You may ask anyone."

Richard seemed incapable of moving, his smile was frozen and he closed his eyes as she tended to him. She turned back to Richard and mentioned something about bandits but Darcy missed it.

He Looked up to see Miss Elizabeth smiling wide, eyes twinkling with laughter, and holding a small, beautiful little girl in her arms.

Darcy was suddenly incapable of moving as well.

His mind went simultaneously blank and awhirl. The child had blonde ringlets like Miss Bennet but the same large, impossibly expressive brown eyes of Miss Elizabeth.

He swallowed thickly.

A child. God, but he wanted a child. Especially one that looked exactly like the woman before him.

This thought surprised him but not enough to refute it as less than absolute fact.

"Your Grace." Miss Elizabeth curtsied and placed the little girl down so she could do so as well but she bowed instead. "No, no, Abby, like this." she laughed and showed the little girl another curtsy. The little tot promptly fell over when she tried.

"Too hard, Auntie Lizzie" She held her arms up to be carried and Miss Elizabeth picked her up gently.

A large woosh was audible as all the air in Darcy's lungs escaped hurriedly.

Auntie.

"Miss Elizabeth, would you introduce us?" the little girl looked up at him with those big brown eyes and he nearly melted.

"Of course, Your - Sir." She seemed to remember their ruse. "Mr. Darcy, please meet my niece, Miss Abigail Lucas."

Darcy felt a shudder down his spine when she said his name. He had always, always, hated the appellations attached to his title, it was why Richard still called him Darcy.

He did not care who he had to impersonate, even Richard's valet, so long as she would call him that.

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Lucas." Darcy bowed formally to the little girl who giggled.

"I three." she pulled her thumb from her mouth to hold up four fingers before looking at them curiously and pulling one down. She smiled in triumph as her fingers matched the number she had stated.

"Three is an excellent age." he nodded seriously.

Miss Lucas nodded just as seriously. "Auntie Lizzie let me potty outside." She paused and leaned in closer. "Ladies don't potty outside when they're big." She whispered to him conspiratorially before her eyebrows knit in puzzlement. "Do you potty outside, Mr. Dawcy?"

Darcy kept an almost straight face. "Not if I can help it, Madam." he bowed to hide his laughter.

Miss Elizabeth did not fare so well. She looked stuck between mortification and an overwhelming fit of laughter.

"Now, Abby." She cleared her throat and tried very hard not to smile. "Ladies do not talk of such things, remember?"

Abby did not look abashed in the slightest. "Yes, Auntie Lizzie"

"Would you be a dear and go check on Auntie Jane?" Miss Elizabeth bent down to speak with her niece. "I believe she hit the Major General again, would you help her tend to his wound?" Abby straightened her spine and nodded forcefully, sending her wild curls bouncing, before running, only a little clumsily, to her other aunt to be of service.

Miss Elizabeth stood, smiling and happy. "I apologize, Your Grace." She said quietly.

"Mr. Darcy."

"Oh, yes, of course, Mr. Darcy." She chuckled at him "My sister will kill me if Abby keeps telling our secrets, thank you for understanding."

Darcy bowed. "Ever at your service." He stood smiling, his cheeks aching from the abnormal formation. "Are you well?" He asked and picked up her hand, turning it over to check her injury.

"I am well, I assure you. I have an excellent caretaker." She nodded to her sister now showing their niece how to tend the wound on the absurdly happy Richard.

It was Darcy's coachman who interrupted them. "Your- urm, Sir." His coachman had been in his service for nearly two decades and Darcy trusted him implicitly. No one else, though so they had not travelled with a footman. "The other coach has, urm... there is..." He looked up to Darcy with worry in his eyes. "'Tis not proper to speak of in front of a lady, Your - Sir." He mumbled quietly.

It was then Darcy noticed the abandoned coach in the road.

"It's alright, Sir." Miss Elizabeth addressed his coachman. "We were taking my niece back to Lucas Lodge when we noticed it. You came upon us just in time."

The Coachman still looked troubled which, in turn, began unsettling Darcy. "I believe you may speak plainly, Mr. Greeves, what did you find in the coach?"

His wide eyes darted back and forth between Darcy and Miss Elizabeth. "There's someone in the coach, S-sir." He stammered.

"Are they injured?!" Miss Elizabeth asked and began walking towards the coach determinedly.

"No!" Mr. Greeves shouted, effectively stopping her in her tracks. He turned back to look at Darcy, fear clear in his eyes.

"He's dead, Your Grace."

\\\\\\\\\

Netherfield Hall

Hertfordshire, England

Charles Bingley had thought of death only once in his eight and twenty years. He had been 12 and his father had just passed. His mother had cried for days until he found little ways, in as much as a 12 year old boy can, to make her smile. He realized then, and this was the revelation that stayed with him, that finding ways to be truly happy, even in the worst circumstances imaginable, was the way he wanted to live the rest of his life.

And so, he did.

He was currently putting his philosophy to use, admiring the way the setting sun beamed its last rays into the billiards room of his rented home.

He glanced back up to see if his youngest sister had abandoned her tirade.

She had not.

The light, coming through in wide beams, showed a veritable quadrille comprised solely of dust, flitting and twirling around each other.

Dancing. He almost sighed.

Charles did so love to dance.

"Charles!" His sister's voice broke through his thoughts, clearly not finished with her tirade. "I say, Charles! Are you paying attention? I have been speaking to you for over an hour, have you missed everything?" She threw her hands in the air in exasperation. "I still don't understand why, even if the Duke is coming here to rusticate, he would ask that we hide his identity." She looked at him expectantly, but continued before he could reply. "And a tradesman? I am quite sure it's treason to call him anything other than Your Grace!"

"Caro-"

"Treason, Charles! This is not a game. I see no reason why I could not tell someone he is a Duke."

Ah, yes - and there was the crux of it. Even a married, titled woman needed to find ways to feel superior to those around her.

Charles had enjoyed two years, two peaceful, happy, joyous years without her tainting everyday and everything with her negativity and scheming. It had been far simpler to deal with her when he did not know any better

"Those are the Duke's wishes, Caroline. Perhaps you should go back to Trillworth? I am sure the Baron misses you by now."

"Oh." She scoffed like the very idea was nonsense. "That drafty old castle is horrid and you know it." She looked almost, but not exactly, sad for a brief moment. "My husband is far too busy to notice I am missing." She raised her chin high. "I am here to help you, of course. What would you do without me, Charles?"

Smile more.

"I am not sure, sister." He forced a smile. A movement of which he had just become accustomed.

There was a knock on the door followed by his head butler, Mr. Grimes. "Sir, My Lady" he bowed to the brother and sister. "There was a carriage waylaid up the road. A Monsieur St. Orange has arrived unharmed but he says this was his final destination. I took the liberty of placing him in the... Egyptian room." Charles had become more astute since he realized (rather belatedly) that his sister was a harpy, and he caught the small glance at Caroline before he denoted the room in question. The room was hideous, he could understand. When they had first arrived, Caroline had been mad for everything Greek. She negotiated with the owners herself to get permission to add a columned portico to the front. But her Greek craze had lasted not even the length of time to repaint rooms and build her columns.

Now it was Egyptian.

"Waylaid... by bandits?! How positively dreadful." She patted her deep orange dress and adjusted her rather large matching hat. The hat in question made Charles wary. He was eerily aware of the way in which the stuffed pheasant was facing from amongst the cornucopia of feathers, its beady, lifeless eyes watching him from every angle.

He shook his head slightly before heading towards the Egyptian room, briefly wondering what his father would have done with his sister... were he not dead.

Oh! He thought happily. But this carpeting is rather plush.

What a pleasant home he had found himself.

/

Caroline Bedford (neè Bingley), the Lady Trillworth, knew herself to be the pinnacle embodiment of the perfect Lady, either living or dead. She made a mental note to except royalty from that list as she had yet to achieve that status.

But, she was working on it.

She smiled as they neared her new room. Her new, gloriously appointed, Egyptian room. Her eyes lit up at the very thought of any of those catty women of the ton looking upon her creation. She could envision their looks of awe, stifled quickly of course, but Caroline knew the look of envy well enough to spot it in others. She would know her triumph.

As Charles opened the doors, she basked in the glow of her masterful decorating briefly before she noticed their unexpected guest lounging on her newly upholstered chesterfield. She couldn't help but bristle slightly. If the furniture were meant to be treated as a bed, she would have allowed them to be far more comfortable.

The man stood with an elegant grace that took Caroline by surprise, considering the lazy way he had occupied her furniture. He was of average height but above average carriage. A gentleman of perhaps 40 years of age if the light sprinkling of gray at his temples was any indication, and immaculately attired. His clothing had been tailored specifically for his body and showed no outward signs of long usage. She had sized him up in a moment and knew very well to be on her best behavior.

She fluttered her eyelashes unconsciously before chiding herself mentally. She was very nearly irresistible when she did that and she did not need this man to fall for her immediately.

"Sir, Your Ladyship" The man bowed to the brother and sister, his accent clearly French. "I apologize for the inconvenience. I was coming here, to Netherfield you see, to inspect the property as a prospective rental and - and" his lip trembled and Caroline had the sudden urge to slap him. She had seen better acting in drawing rooms on a Tuesday morning call. She spared her brother a sideways glance but he had been taken in immediately, he currently wore a very concerned frown. She sighed. The dirty work was always left to her.

"I am sorry for your predicament, Sir, perhaps if you could introduce yourself, we could sit and begin working out your options." She held her contempt in check, but just barely.

No one preyed on her brother's kind heart.

No one else, at least.

The stranger cleared his throat and gave her a quick, appraising look. She raised an eyebrow slightly to acknowledge his actions.

She was not known for subtlety. Unless she wanted to be, of course, then she would be known for being the most subtle.

"I am Henri St. Orange, the Duc of Bar, madam." He bowed low, answering her challenge.

Well. In that case.

Her brother dispensed the introductions on their side.

"Your Grace, you must be exhausted after such an ordeal." She tittered. "Shall I show you to a room before you and my brother conduct business? You should rest." She didn't entirely trust the man but she wasn't an idiot.

"Yes, thank you, I would appreciate that greatly."

Charles bowed to the two, still making a sympathetic face. "Yes, of course. Though, I will tell you ahead of time, I have rented this house for the next twelvemonth." He held up his hand with a smile. "No business until you have rested, we will figure this out easy enough. I will be available once you are ready, Your Grace. Take your time and I will have my men retrieve your things from your carriage."

Charles would house him indefinitely, Caroline knew her brother well enough.

She sighed before devising a brilliant (though weren't they all?) strategy. She could protect her brother and impress a stranger.

She smiled, as much to herself as to the French Duke.

"Follow me, Your Grace."

They moved into the hall, leaving Charles in her beautifully decorated room.

"As luck would have it, Your Grace I have a room readily prepared for your use." He bowed noncommittally and mumbled a thanks. "We are expecting the Duke of Montagu at any moment so I had many rooms readied in case he would need more than just the two."

The stranger cringed slightly at the name and Caroline felt a surge of triumph. She knew he was hiding something, and everyone was afraid of the Duke of Montagu. It was the primary reason she was still so desperate to be his Duchess.

That and the part where she would be a duchess.

"He is here to rusticate, of course, so he will be keeping his title a secret. He enjoys pulling a bit of a May game on those lesser than himself, you know." She waved her hand as though this were a normal occurrence and tried not to preen at his still troubled expression.

She conjured all her grace and aplomb (which was considerable) not to gloat ever so slightly.

Ladies did not gloat.

At least not overtly.

/

Elizabeth chewed her lower lip as she looked over the carriage, briefly debating swatting the hovering Duke.

"Miss Elizabeth. I will carry you back to my carriage if I must." His deep voice had been nagging at her since they realized the abandoned carriage held a dead man.

"I know well your penchant for carrying ladies, Mr. Darcy." She flashed him a mischievous grin. "I do not doubt you."

"Only you, Miss Elizabeth."

"A dubious distinction, indeed." She deadpanned, still concentrating on the abandoned carriage.

"But an important distinction nonetheless." He raised his eyebrows. "Now, if you please-"

"Mr. Darcy, where was this man stabbed?" She cut him off and pointed to the corpse, still sitting in the box seat, now covered with a blanket from the interior of the coach.

He narrowed his eyebrows at her, not missing that she had ignored his wise words. She turned to him fully when he still hadn't answered her, her look of questioning answered by one of his own.

"Yes." She finally gave in, exasperated. "Answer me and I will get in your carriage."

He nodded, clearly pleased with himself.

"The chest, Miss Elizabeth." He held his hand out, ostensibly to escort her back but she hesitated.

His face fell easily back into its stubborn set before he swooped her up into his arms.

"Mr. Darcy!" She screeched at the unexpected upheaval. "Put me down!"

He looked down at her, face stern. "You gave your word, Miss Elizabeth. This truly is not a safe place."

"Actually, I didn't." He scoffed before she could finish. "But if you had but given me a moment I would have gotten in. Now, put me down!"

"No."

"Please?" His eyes bore into hers as he stopped walking, they stayed thus for a long moment.

"A moment, Miss Elizabeth. We must get your niece away from here." And he was absolutely correct. But, she had to figure this out.

He set her down gently and she smiled up at him.

"Thank you." She tilted her head to the side and stared at his chest. "Mr. Darcy, how would you attack me?"

"What?" He barked at her.

"If you had a sword, and I did not, how would you attack?"

He contemplated for a heartbeat before lunging at her, executing a thrust to the stomach with his imaginary sword. His hand stopped a hairsbreadth from her corset. She looked down to it and tilted her head to the other side.

"Why not the chest?"

He looked back up from their nearly touching bodies and swallowed hard. "The breastplate, Miss Elizabeth. You can't get through easily." His voice was oddly hoarse.

This puzzled her further. She turned her body to stare at the carriage again. Mr. Darcy came up to stand beside her.

"I see what has you puzzled, Miss Elizabeth. The driver was stabbed from the front but we found him still on the box." He seemed to continue her own thoughts.

"That is what's been bothering me." She nodded. "It would be impossible to stab him from the front without having gotten into the box themselves. And, even then, why the chest?" She turned back to the carriage before walking determinedly towards it.

"What are you looking for?" Mr. Darcy's much longer legs brought him back to her side in an instant.

"This may sound morbid but, was there a great deal of blood in the box?

"No. None." He steered her to the side of the carriage with a large hand on her shoulder. "But there is a great deal over here." They stood before the door to the carriage, a large spot of blood staining the dirt.

"He was killed here." She looked up to Mr. Darcy, fear creeping into her face. "By whoever was in the coach."

They held eye contact for a time, minds synchronized in going over the events that must have taken place.

"It's why he was struck in the chest." He said quietly before looking towards the carriage door. "The height difference."

She turned to look and instinctively grabbed hold of his hand. He squeezed hers tight, pulling her closer at the same time.

"This was not bandits, Mr. Darcy." She shivered and he pulled her ever closer.

"This was murder."

/

Earlier the same day

Hertfordshire, England

Jean and Gustav, all purpose henchmen and brothers (in spirit if not in blood) were dead men.

Henri St. Orange, formerly His Grace the Duc of Bar (but only in the brief moment between his father's execution and his surrendering of the family title) was not planning to mourn their loss.

They died as they lived. He chuckled to himself as he thought of the perfect engraving for his former, aggravatingly incompetent and now aggravatingly dead, servants headstone.

Not that they would get a headstone.

Or a grave, for that matter.

The Thames river flow didn't exactly allow for flowers on their resting places.

He smiled to himself as he recalled their blubbering last words. He couldn't recall them exactly but the vague sounds they made and the rather sad whimpering would stick with him for some time.

Henri knew he shouldn't have killed them. He wasn't so lacking a moral compass that he didn't know right from wrong. It was absolutely wrong to have killed the two men.

Getting replacements would take far too long.

By the time Fouches sent him more mindless chattel the little puteresse would have uncovered his entire operation.

That would be the real wrong.

Henri was pulled from his thoughts by the carriage turning a sharp corner. He looked out the window for the first glimpse of the home he was to be "renting" and his stomach nearly soured at the sight. The manor was a large Tudor style with gray stone walls covered in a mass of ivy slowly making its way towards the sun.

Henri despised the Tudor style.

He would have been able to tolerate it had someone not decided to turn Greek revivalist and add a column lined portico onto the front of the home. The columns and the balcony which they upheld were a shocking white against the aged stone of the walls and the lines contrasted severely to the rounded tops of the house's facade.

Henri valiantly fought the urge to gag. He would not be brought low by terrible architecture.

He would not.

He took long, calming breaths through his nose, preparing himself for what was to come, before tapping the roof of his carriage, alerting the coachman of his need to stop.

It was time.

His coachman had been perfect thus far. He had hardly hit ruts, he took turns at the ideal speed and kept excellent control of his horses. As Henri pulled a long stiletto knife from his cane, he couldn't stop the sudden, but thankfully small, pang of guilt for what needed to be done.

He pushed that thought aside quickly as the door to the carriage was opened, the coachman smiling kindly, clearly unaware his fate had been sealed.

Vive la France.

Sorry for the mishap!


	7. Chapter 6

**Longbourn**

 **Hertfordshire, England**

Elizabeth sat, packed tightly into the family carriage, between her younger sister Mary and Jane, the eldest. Across from her, her mother and her smugly smiling youngest sister were lounging in relaxed repose. She bit her cheek to keep from snapping at Lydia. The urge to say something (or perhaps direct her eldest sister to throw something) that would wipe the self satisfied grin from her face was strong.

Too strong.

She looked out the window to avoid the temptation, only to be drawn further into emotional turmoil by glimpsing her family home, slowly becoming smaller as they left it behind. Her mouth formed into a slight frown at the sight.

She had been excited to come back. Excited to see her beloved family, and especially excited to visit with her father. But her excitement at being home had diminished the minute she stepped across the foyer. The immediate feeling of being a stranger (even a slightly unwelcome one) within her childhood home had come as a shock. More odd than painful, it made her unable to relax, unable to entirely unwind. And after the carriage incident and her incessant worrying over the Duke, the inability to feel comfortable, even amongst her own family, was draining her dry.

It was her father who had actually hurt her, though.

He had yet to say _anything_ to her. At all. He left his bookroom only once since she had arrived the day before. At breakfast that morning he had walked into the room, hair unkempt, dark circles under his eyes, his empty left sleeve pinned haphazardly to his shoulder, and offered her a polite _nod_. The same sort of gesture offered to strangers and, maybe, acquaintances with whom one had no desire to speak.

Now, regardless of the fact that all the furniture was the same, down to the table she hid under as a child. Regardless of her ability to recall, in perfect detail, the grain of the wood under her little hands as she squeezed the table leg tight and giggled waiting for Jane to find her. Regardless of the fact that _everything_ was the exact same as it always had been, _she_ was different.

She _was_ a stranger.

The carriage came to a stop in front of the assembly hall, pulling Elizabeth from her bleak thoughts.

"Oh, Lydia." Her mother sighed happily. "How radiant you look." Her youngest sister preened and smiled to her three elders, before reaching into her dress and pulling her already ample cleavage as high as it would go. Her mother nodded to her in approval and pulled her sleeves down farther as well. "You are sure to find a husband in that dress, don't you think so Jane?"

Jane's smile was flat but at least she managed to put one on. Elizabeth wasn't certain she could have conjured any facial expression besides open mouthed gawking. Her sister was very nearly entirely bare up top.

"Do you not think a tucker would do nicely, Mama?" It was Mary who managed a statement first.

"Oh, don't be such a bore, Mary." Lydia tilted her chin primly and puffed out her chest.

"Mary." Her mother chided. "Lydia looks perfect the way she is. I daresay she's the only one of you able to save me from the hedgerows." She looked lovingly at her youngest before shooting a glare to her three _other_ daughters across from her.

The three sisters sharing a bench shared an eyeroll.

"Mama, Kitty has already married very well, I doubt-" Jane was cut off when the footman opened the door and Lydia lunged for it, shoving their mother out of the way and into Elizabeth's lap.

"Lydia!" Her mother whined before using Mary's shoulder to push herself upright, muttering something about a 'lively girl' before throwing herself at the door and exiting in a huff.

The three Bennets left in the carriage stared at one another.

Mary leaned over and squeezed Elizabeth's hand. "They have only gotten worse, Lizzie, but it is good to have you back." She smiled at her, a sweet truly loving smile, and Elizabeth felt her heart soar.

She needed that.

She took a deep breath before looking up at the facade of the Assembly hall, looking far more imposing and far more grand in the torchlight than she remembered in the light, and she smiled.

Whether forced or voluntary, shallow or soul-deep, everything could be different given the right light.

She would just need to find hers.

/

Darcy was staring down a squat man clearly wavering in his resolve to approach. Every time the poor man would move closer to him he would narrow his eyes, training his intense gaze at him and the little fellow would stop cold, eyes wide and wandering as he obviously internally debated his chances of survival. Darcy was beginning to question _why_ the man insisted in continuing with this pantomime but it was the best distraction he had found all evening. And he was currently in need of one.

Finding out that the man involved in the carriage "accident" was staying at Netherfield, and if he read Bingley correctly, more than likely indefinitely, and that the man in question was a French duke was more than he had any desire to keep to himself. He had attempted to tell his friend that the man may not be all he seemed but he was unsure as to _what_ to do otherwise. Should he tell him they suspect he's a murderer? Even without proof? His Grace was not a man to waver in his decisions and his current predicament was excruciating.

He _needed_ to speak to Elizabeth. He _needed_ to warn his friend he was housing a murderer. He _needed_ to find Wickham so he could find his father.

But, right now, the only thing he _needed_ was to make sure Miss Elizabeth was still safe.

Also, he missed looking at her.

"Cousin, you are blocking that poor little fellow from the refreshment table." Richard had sidled up next to him, looking entirely nonchalant for all the fuss he caused earlier when he stormed into Darcy's room in a huff over tying a cravat.

Darcy looked to the little man, shaking slightly, probably in thirst, and moved to the side. The man rushed the table, grabbed a glass, downed its contents and took up a second before walking very quickly, very far from the two men watching him.

"What an odd fellow." Darcy commented dryly.

"The only oddity here, _Mr. Darcy,_ is your coat. Good God, man, are you even trying to blend in?" Richard reached back to get a glass of punch, bringing the glass to his lips slowly, warily, as though he somehow already knew it was going to be bad. He spit the punch back into his glass with a sour face. He looked back to the table, a servant manning the refreshments shrugged but didn't make eye contact. "They're deliberately poisoning us." He muttered.

"What is wrong with this coat?" Darcy looked down at his deep blue coat, offended _for_ the article of clothing.

"You look like a fop."

"These are cloth buttons you imbecile."

Richard shrugged. "Fop."

"Gentlemen! You've tried the punch!" A rotund, jolly man had somehow surreptitiously snuck up on the two while they bickered. Richard nearly choked and Darcy spun on his heel to face the interloper.

"Yes." Richard sputtered before coughing.

"It is my wife's recipe, you know." The red cheeked man held up his hand. "I can not divulge the recipe, do not ask me to."

"We wouldn't dream of it." Darcy deadpanned.

"Allow me to introduce myself, gentlemen. I am Sir William Lucas." He bowed rather nimbly and with an incredible flourish. "I am the host for this evenings festivities." He smiled proudly and expectantly to the men.

"Richard Fitzwilliam, at your service." Richard bowed.

"Fitzwilliam Darcy." Darcy inclined his head regally before realizing himself and bowing.

"Capital! I hear tell you gentlemen are in trade? I myself was in trade before being knighted by His Majesty." He chuckled to himself as though he had shared a joke. "What is it you do?"

"We are in trade. The both of us." He motioned between he and Darcy and nodded seriously. . "Tradesmen."

Darcy nodded as well. "Yes. Tradesmen." He spoke slowly as though explaining something basic to a small child.

"Ahhh, men of mystery, I see. Capital!" He touched the side of his nose with a conspiratorial wink. "My primary was tea, I ran my ships out of India but I dare say I took whatever else I could." He chuckled again, his belly rising and falling with the movement.

"Indeed." Darcy stated blankly.

Richard shot him a warning look before smiling to Sir William. "The buying and selling of goods is our specialty, isn't it cousin?" He nudged Darcy in the arm ever so slightly.

"He's not very good at it." Darcy inclined his head towards his cousin and shook his head in mock sadness.

Sir William guffawed loudly and happily before noticing something at the entrance.

"I am very good at it. The... best...even." Richard answered, distractedly and suspiciously wistfully. Darcy didn't bother turning to look at him, he simply looked in the direction his cousin was ogling and was not disappointed to see Miss Bennet. His not being disappointed was followed very quickly with his becoming heavily disappointed not to see Miss Elizabeth near her.

Or anywhere, for that matter.

Instead, standing menacingly in the entryway was _St. Orange_. The murderer. He had only seen the Duke briefly at Netherfield as the man had stayed well confined to his rooms but he saw the calculating look in his eyes as he scanned the room.

He spun on his heels, searching frantically for a mess of curls or large brown eyes or even a small glimpse of her too sharp chin.

Nothing.

His breathing started to become labored and his chest heaved as his mind immediately went to the multitude of horrific scenarios which would keep his Elizabeth from him.

He stumbled forward, in the opposite direction his cousin and the jovial gentleman seemed to be facing but his sight was narrowing and blurring around the edges so much that he wasn't actually sure.

Where is she?!

If that man did anything to her he would burn the world and _then_ kill him slowly.

He pushed through a crowd of people, unseeing, before something grabbed his coat sleeve and led him to the side of the ballroom and around a tall urn holding a bedraggled, but luckily also tall, fern.

"What are you doing?!" He knew that exasperated whisper. "Oh, no. Breathe, Your Grace, breathe, everything will be fine." Her calm, gentle tone made him want to fake illness so she could tend him.

He blinked to clear his vision and looked down into the chocolate depths of his Elizabeth's too large eyes. His breathing began to slow as air seemed to flow more smooth when she was around. He smiled wide, not missing her sharp intake of breath.

"Good evening, Miss Elizabeth." He was still breathless so the words came out clipped. "I've missed you." The very true statement was out before he could hold it back but he didn't care at the moment.

She, however, did not seem to notice. She was now scanning their surroundings, but, and he took great comfort in this, also still holding his coat sleeve.

Small triumphs.

She finally looked up at him and flashed a small smile. "You are far too charming, _Mr. Darcy_."

"Only with you."

"Do you see the balcony over there?" She ignored him and indicated a direction with her head but a few stray curls had come loose and Darcy was unable to focus on her words.

She let out an annoyed sound before demanding he follow her.

He kept the scent of lavender in his nose, wondering how it was he hadn't noticed before she wore his favorite scent, as he followed her blindly through the crowd. She stopped before a set of large double doors and looked at the set expectantly. He stared at her, grinning brightly, before she widened her eyes and looked again towards the doors.

Ah.

He chuckled to himself and turned in a smooth motion to the doors, the cool night air sobering him from his drunken giddiness at having her near.

"What were you-" Elizabeth was back to furiously whispering but, behind her he could see the French Duke obviously searching the room.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her close, further into the shadowed side of the balcony, cutting off her protest with a gentle hush, just as the Frenchman peeked his head outside. He turned his head side to side as though searching but was forced back inside by loud exclamations and clamoring for introductions.

Darcy smiled. The hunter was also being hunted. He had never been so happy to be pretending to be someone else.

Just inside from their position they could hear the loud, excited exclamations over the unexpected arrival of a French nobleman.

"Oh, my Lydia! Oh, my dear! Come here, quickly, yes yes. Where are your sisters?" There was a murmured response Darcy was unable to hear. "No matter. Puff up your chest, girl, it's your greatest asset. Yes. There. Now, smile. Shoulders back. Farther. Good... _Do not disappoint me, Lydia_." The last was said with so much threat Darcy cringed. He could see Elizabeth tense and he assumed she was as appalled as he was.

"That was a disgusting display." He whispered, trying to commiserate.

He was quite sure he saw her eyes shine with unshed tears.

"That was my mother." She whispered, nearly directly into his chest.

If he thought she would accept it, he would have pulled her back to him and assured her it was fine, that we weren't defined by our parents or somesuch.

Instead he patted her shoulder stoically.

"How… horrible, Miss Elizabeth."

Her face fell further and he cursed himself.

He had no idea _what_ he was doing but he could tell he wasn't doing it well.

/

Mortified.

Positively, inexpressibly, mortified.

She would have been mortified even if His Grace had not overheard the conversation. She had, for so long, assumed the relationship between her mother and her youngest sister to be harmonious. They certainly _seemed_ to be of one mind when it came to most things. But hearing the way her mother treated Lydia had been shocking in its incongruity with her perceptions.

Elizabeth shook her head and tried for a smile. There was no point in allowing the Duke to see her upset.

"We need to speak, I believe, but I am not sure now is the best time." As though on queue, someone exited the ballroom and made to move onto the balcony only to be pulled back in by a giggling lady. Elizabeth cringed and sent a silent prayer that it was not one of her family members. She could only deal with so much embarrassment at any given moment.

"Let us attempt a public introduction, Your Grace, as far as anyone else is concerned we are strangers. Then we may move on to finding ways to plan… And finding Mr. Wickham." She turned quickly, very ready to quit the balcony as soon as possible but he held her back.

"Miss Elizabeth, the _passenger_ of the carriage we found is _French_." Her eyes widened in shock. "Not only French but apparently a Duke...And he is staying at Netherfield." Elizabeth's face drained of color and her mouth hung open.

She had a terrible suspicion of who this man might be and it frightened her.

Her fright must have manifested itself rather apparently as the Duke clutched her hand tighter.

"Who is he?" His voice was gruff and commanding. Angry, almost.

She looked up into his shadow covered face and had the overwhelming desire to cling to him and hide, if only to feel secure for a moment.

She swallowed hard, trying to find her calm so she could speak without a quavering voice.

"I don't know for certain." She licked lips that had gone dry in an instant. "But, he may be who I have been gathering information... _from."_

She looked away, her mind turning over everything she had learned, only to have a gentle hand nudge her chin to bring her, once again, face to face with His Grace. He looked at her for a long moment, worry apparent in his features.

"I am here. Let me help you." Those whispered words were the sweetest things she had ever heard. She smiled, truly smiled, even amidst the danger.

"Thank you, Your Grace."

He cleared his throat. " _Mr. Darcy."_

She giggled, the strain of the moment making her giddy. "Yes, Mr. Darcy. Thank you." She squeezed the hand she still held. "Now. Let us go procure an introduction and find your Mr. Wickham and steer clear of the Frenchman."

He quirked an eyebrow high. "Is that all, Miss Elizabeth? I daresay we will be done by the third set."

/

Miss Mary Lavinia Bennet tried her very best to blend seamlessly into the large fern occupying the space next to her. If the fern hadn't been half dead she might have succeeded in her task, so fervent was her effort.

She tried to recite some of her favorite lines from Fordyce but was unable to bring them forth with any great ease. Were she truthful, she would admit that she had all but given up hope for finding her way through the world being led by the reverend's words. Like most everyone she had venerated, they failed when she needed them the most.

The feeling of being directionless, of having no one and nothing with which to show her the way through life, felt akin to stumbling through a room floored with pins and needles and having everyone around her laugh when she inevitably fell.

Every attempt she had ever made to be what she assumed everyone wanted her to be had failed, usually spectacularly. She eyed the pianoforte in the corner of the room and cringed.

She just wanted someone, _anyone_ , to tell her what to do and let her make them proud. Give her the chance to succeed. She wanted that more than anything in the world but all her previous tries had either ended in ridicule or sneers.

It made her want to hide by ferns.

It made her feel small and meaningless and forgotten and that was in the best of times.

It made her want to scream for _someone_ to tell her what the _bloody hell_ she was expected to do with her life.

She blushed at the mental curse, feeling a small, guilty, rush of excitement at uttering a foul word in her mind.

"What has you blushing, Mary?" Jane had finished her dance with Mr. Fitzwilliam and the two made their way to her hiding spot. Had she not just uttered such language she would have cursed the ferns inability to stay alive when she needed it the most.

"Ah, nothing Jane." She smiled, what she hoped was an innocent smile and definitely not the smile of a woman tainted by the use of bad words.

"Miss Mary" Mr. Fitzwilliam bowed to her and looked as though he might ask her something before he was cut off.

"Richard!" A handsome man with fiery red hair and an easy smile patted him on the back. "You and Mon-" He cleared his throat lightly "er, Darcy, were smart to have left early, we only just arrived, missed the first set, I see." He smiled wide at Jane who answered with a demure nod. "Introduce me, old man."

Mary watched as Mr. Fitzwilliam's jaw muscles undulated briefly. "Of course, Bingley. Allow me to introduce Miss Bennet and Miss Mary Bennet. Ladies, this is Mr. Charles Bingley." Bows and curtsies were exchanged. Though Mr. Bingley had spared her a short glance, he had yet to take his eyes from Jane. Mary completely understood, Jane was the most beautiful woman to grace most the rooms she entered. Though the girls shared the same cornflower blue eyes, Mary's stature was shorter and fuller. She had large breasts, she tried desperately to hide and wide hips she tried desperately to counter with baggy dresses. In short, she looked very much like a potato at the moment.

"Miss Bennet, would you have the next set free?" Mr. Bingley smiled wide, looking ever so slightly dazed.

Before Jane could respond, Mr. Fitzwilliam did so for her. "Sorry, Bingley, she promised me the second, did you not Miss Bennet?"

Jane looked up to Mr. Fitzwilliam and gave him a tender smile, not the demure, sweet smile she offered to almost everyone but a smile which conveyed some further emotion Mary could not yet name.

"So I did, Mr. Fitzwilliam, shall I hold you to it?" Mary was rather shocked to hear such tease in Jane's voice. Shocked but happy. The two looked rather besotted with each other, for having been introduced not a half hour prior.

"I should hope so, Miss Bennet." The music started and the two made their way to the set not breaking eye contact and not taking leave of the two left standing next to the shriveled fern.

Mr. Bingley watched as they walked away and sighed audibly. He very nearly jumped as he turned his head and realized Mary was still standing next to him.

"Miss Mary, would you do me the honor?"

And that is the moment Mary's mind abandoned her.

Just like the fern.

/

Bingley watched as the most angelic woman he had ever encountered walked away from him on the arm of Richard.

He sighed and cursed his sister and her necessity to be _fashionably late_. He shook his head and nearly audibly gasped when he noticed the other sister next to him.

What was her name? Ah! Mary!

"Miss Mary, would you do me the honor?"

She looked momentarily stunned, her blue eyes widened and her eyebrows met her hairline as she gaped at him.

"Me?" Bingley looked around them and then pointedly between her and the fern.

"Yes, Miss Mary, I would hope it were you and not that poor excuse for greenery." He chuckled.

She looked fearfully between him and the fern before smiling wide, transforming her face entirely. Her already blue eyes brightened to a shocking color and Bingley couldn't help but stare.

Blue always had been his favorite color.

"Yes, Mr. Bingley, let us… dance. We will dance. Yes." She rambled a bit and his smile widened at her rather adorable, and painfully apparent, nervousness.

She was a delightful surprise and Charles loved surprises.

Well, mostly.

They took their places and his face fell as he caught the eye of the first surprise in his life that actually gave him a _bad_ feeling. His current, unexpected (which is usually the best kind but not in this case), guest at his home was looking about the room in a calculated manner and it filled Bingley with _foreboding._

He had absolutely never, not even a little bit, felt a foreboding.

"You do not have to do this, Mr. Bingley, I am more than happy to sit this dance out." Miss Mary spoke to him in a low, nearly defeated voice.

He startled slightly, feeling terrible for his inattentiveness.

"Miss Mary, I apologize." He shook his head. "I am… troubled..." (just saying the word was odd for Bingley) "...by something and I am unsure what to do about it." He smiled wide. "I assure you, I am happy to be dancing with you right now."

She brightened at that, her eyes glowing for their incredible shade of blue.

"I know the feeling well, Mr. Bingley. Can I be of help?"

He quirked his head to the side and looked at her before circling, keeping to the dance steps. As his hand grazed her waistline, he noticed the odd bunching of fabric. Ladies fashion made no sense to him.

When they were brought back together, he continued. "I thank you, I can not tell you the particulars but I am having difficulty deciding on a course of action." He looked confused for a moment. "Or whether action is needed at all."

She smiled wide and had she not had the most earnest look to her he would believe her to be laughing at him.

"I understand entirely, Mr. Bingley."

"You do?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "I have spent years trying to find a, well… a _something_ that would tell me what I should do, or give me some sort of direction." She smiled into his eyes and he felt it in his gut.

"Have you found it?" Bingley's voice had suddenly deepened.

"Well, no." His face fell. "But, perhaps I could help nonetheless?"

"I would like that very much indeed, Miss Mary." He opened his mouth to continue but stopped when a man in red regimentals walked in the door. The sound of a lady gasping felt a bit over the top but he supposed the gentleman was handsome. He looked to Miss Mary, who was still intently looking at him and smiled, glad her head wasn't also turned by a red coat.

He found himself enjoying the woman currently holding his gloved hand lightly.

Blue and surprises. She had embodied two of his three favorite things in the world.

Now, if only… He looked down to her chest and had to hold back his delighted gasp.

Breasts.

Large breasts.

Bingley was in love.

/


	8. Chapter 7

**Assembly Hall**

 **Hertfordshire, England**

The light in the room, though the dim of candlelight, burned Elizabeth's eyes slightly as she re-entered from the balcony. The noise momentarily deafening in contrast to the quiet from which she just came. It was overwhelming, and it engulfed her entirely.

But only for a moment.

When her vision cleared she was surprised to find her mother speaking with a tall, stately gentleman. His stance perfect as he leaned down to listen to Lady Bennet intently. She watched in stunned awe as her mother spoke animatedly, her face waffling between emotions quickly as she imparted some story upon the stranger. So engrossed in the odd scene, Elizabeth was startled to realize she had made eye contact with the gentleman. His eyes were the flat, cloudy blue of river stones and the sky just after a rain and before the sun had reappeared. They held no warmth.

He watched her gravely, eyes never wavering, as her mother continued rattling on happily. Elizabeth narrowed her eyes slightly and he smirked, humorlessly, bordering on menacing. He started towards her, stalking, not sparing even a glance back to Lady Bennet as she huffed at his rude behavior.

Elizabeth froze.

But only for a moment.

Her sister Lydia, in all her nearly nude glory was dragged past her, giggling wildly, by a rather dashing man in a red coat. The connection broken, she looked to the approaching man with as much defiance as she could muster before turning on her heel before he could reach her.

Elizabeth suspected she knew who the man was and she was not one to balk at a strategic retreat.

She followed her sister and the red coated man through the crowded ballroom until she realized the two seemed to be heading in the direction of the exit.

Now, that was most certainly not going to happen.

It was far too cold and far too barren for them to take a stroll in the small garden lining the assembly hall. Elizabeth marched towards them, intent in her mission but was stopped by her second youngest sister Kitty.

"Lizzie!" Kitty cried and hugged her sister as tight as she could with her very large, very pregnant belly in the way. "I have missed you so!" Kitty went in for a second hug and Elizabeth lost some of the tension in her shoulders.

"I saw you yesterday, sister." Elizabeth accepted the hug and pulled out her handkerchief in preparation for what she knew was coming.

"I know." Kitty's lip quivered. "It is just that it has been _so_ _long_." Her eyes started to water and Elizabeth handed her her handkerchief. "I have missed you _so_ much. Abby misses you too, I just…" she trailed off, crying in earnest now.

"Kitty." Lizzie said affectionately and brought her in for a sideways embrace before looking around the room frantically, looking for Mr. Lucas, looking for the man who had been following her, looking for her youngest sister who looked suspiciously like she was preparing herself for a mistake.

came first.

"Here, darling, it's your fav- oh, what is the matter Kittydearest?" He had arrived right on time and carrying two glasses of the awful punch his family loved so dearly. He handed one glass to Elizabeth and put his free arm around his wife.

"I… have just… it is just… I have missed Lizzie so and..." she blew her nose loudly and sobered as she noticed the glass in her husband's other hand. "Oh! Is that punch?"

Mr. Lucas smiled wide and winked to Elizabeth over the top of his wife's head.

"She gets tearful the closer we get to her confinement." He patted her belly lightly and she nodded before finishing her glass.

Elizabeth giggled at the couple. "I love you, my dear sister. But I must go find our Lydia." She shook her head and looked back towards the exit. "I saw her sneaking off with an officer."

Kitty scowled and took the glass Elizabeth was still holding. "Go get her, sister. Bring her to me when you find her and _I_ will deliver her a set down."

Lizzie raised her eyebrows high and smiled slowly. This was a _very_ different Kitty.

Mr. Lucas chuckled happily, sounding incredibly like his father. "She is also far more spirited." He looked at her now smiling sister with unabashed adoration and Elizabeth melted for them.

She shook off the welcoming warmth of standing near so much love. She had another sister to either save or thrash and she had yet to decide which it would be.

She squeezed Kitty's arm. "I will return shortly" and turned towards the cold exit her sister had just quit. She saw Mr. Darcy watching her protectively and smiled, as much to herself as to the Duke, the warmth she had so recently lost returning quickly in a rush through her veins.

The garden outside the assembly hall was ill maintained at the best of times and not at all during the fall and winter. Sir William had commissioned the addition just after being knighted but did not think far enough ahead to its continued care. It was through the skeletal remains of shrubbery that she spotted a flash of bright red, giving away the lover's position before their poorly hushed whispers met her ear.

As she neared, the whispers became more coherent, every few words intelligible even from her distance.

She heard a sharp inhale and a pleading, defeated "No" followed by more hushed words and her feet sped of their own accord. When she reached the small alcove, surrounded by bramble, she saw her sister, frowning eyes but her face placid, and the red coated gentleman with a hand running down her stomach. The intimacy of the movement combined with her sister's pleas threw Elizabeth into a blind rage. She ran to them and, with the combined strength of her walker's legs and forward momentum, kicked the man as hard as she could in the shin. If her immediately throbbing foot were an indicator, she hit him _very_ hard.

"Angckhhhh". The red coated gentleman yelled hysterically, turning and throwing a punch before he saw his "attacker". Elizabeth was nowhere near his attempted retribution.

"That is my sister!" Lydia shrieked indignantly before hitting the man with the palm of her hand directly in the nose as he had doubled over from the blow to the leg. Blood began gushing immediately and she stepped back quickly, narrowly avoiding ruining her new dress.

"You hit me!" He yelled to a now giggling Lydia, his voice was made whinier by his clearly broken nose.

"You tried to hit my sister!" Lydia looked to Elizabeth. "He didn't hit you, did he?" She looked like she was more than willing to finish the job had he done so. Elizabeth shook her head and Lydia smiled.

"She _kicked_ me!"

"Volenti non fit injuria, I'm afraid." Elizabeth replied stubbornly.

"What does that even mea _n_?" The N at the end of the word was drawn out painfully before devolving into a whistling sound as air came out of his now obstructed nasal passage.

Elizabeth opened her mouth to speak but was forestalled by the Duke, coming to stand very close to her side. "It means you most certainly chose the wrong women to harm, _Wickham._ " His voice was tinged with anger but he lost it as he looked down to Elizabeth. "You speak latin, Miss Elizabeth?"

She smiled up at him. "I do, indeed. French and Italian as well and I read Greek." At that last His Grace's face held an inexplicable glint. Elizabeth wasn't sure exactly what it meant but it made her entire being tingle.

Mr. Wickham's eyes had gone wide and his lip began to quiver at the first sight of the Duke, incoherent words tumbled from his mouth as they carried on their conversation.

"Wait." Elizabeth just realized what the Duke had called the blubbering, bleeding man before them. " _The_ ?" The tall man moved closer to her and nodded, inclining his head slightly to the side but now not taking his eyes from Mr. Wickham.

"What are _you_ doing here, _Your Grace_?" The last was said in as much a sneer as he was capable of giving but it failed to strike any sort of chord as he had yet to fully calm himself and his voice was pitched higher in fear.

"Your Grace?!" Lydia had a knack for shrieking. "He is a _Duke_?" She didn't wait for an answer and pulled her dress down further in the front before mechanically batting her eyelashes.

"Lydia!" Elizabeth admonished.

Lydia looked surprised for a breath before honestly blushing. "Sorry! Force of habit." She shrugged and pulled her dress back up to its intended position, covering far more than before.

"Lydia, go inside and retrieve Jane and the man hovering near her, please." Elizabeth didn't take her eyes off the bleeding Mr. Wickham but she saw her sister start to complain before stopping herself and moving to do as she asked.

 _There is still hope for that girl._

In the time it took for everyone to understand the situation, Wickham had regained some of his seemingly normal, cocky demeanor. He narrowed his eyes at the Duke's protective stance.

"You think to _protect_ a lady from _me?_ " He huffed a laugh haughtily. "Does she know what they call you? Huh? Cold Heart, isn't it? Does she know they laugh at you and your _bird of paradise_ for a sister?" He tried for a mocking laugh but it sounded far too nasally to be anything but humorous.

Elizabeth was so near the Duke, she felt his entire body go rigid, his slight intake of breath audible to her for her nearness. She moved to surreptitiously squeeze his hand. She meant for a small show of support but he held hers fast, not letting go when she tried. She did not push him to.

"What _I_ know" Elizabeth started angrily. " - and I do apologize, I left my handkerchief with my sister or I would offer it to you. You are rather a mess, I'm afraid." She smirked to him, annoyed with his taunting of her Duke. "But, what I do know is that _this_ man" she inclined her head towards Darcy. "is the most honorable man of my acquaintance and the only one I would want with me in a tight situation." She raised her eyebrows to Wickham. "Whereas, I caught _you_ molesting my sister after she pleaded for you to stop." She forced down the bile that rose in her throat at saying the words out loud and went instead for a mocking smile. "The same sister who has, I am quite certain given the _horrific_ swelling, broken your nose." He started to say something but she cut him off. " _That_ is what I know." She stepped forward menacingly. "And _that_ is what matters. Now." She turned to the Duke who was wearing the oddest expression. "I believe this man has some information you and I need. How shall we go about obtaining it?" She winked to Darcy who's bewildered expression softened at her before hardening when he looked up to Wickham.

"Shall we see what Richard has learned while in Spain?" His voice was very nearly breezy, a sharp contrast to the stranglehold he had on her hand.

"I learned quite a lot, Cousin, would you like a demonstration?" The Major General sauntered up to the group, Jane in tow. For all his bravado, he looked back to Jane, a brief wave of sadness flowing down his face. She smiled sweetly to him and patted his hand in a gesture Elizabeth felt looked very much like comfort. In a move reminiscent of what his cousin had just done, his eyes warmed before hardening when he looked back to Wickham. "It has been a long time, _Wickham_. I see you have changed very little."

"Did they finally kick you out of the military, Fitzwilliam? You look pathetic out of red, it must have been the uniform all along."

"Ahhh, but I am just hunting. A wolf in sheep's clothing, nothing more." He smiled to Wickham who's taunting was only serving to make himself lose his cool.

"I am not afraid of you." He turned to the Duke, having to turn his entire torso to see him with his hand still holding his nose to curb the bleeding. "Or of you, you fools. You are both too soft and weak to-." Both men surged forward but it was too late, Wickham slumped down to the ground, out cold.

Jane's reticule rolled to the side of his face.

She looked just as surprised as the three sets of eyes turned on her. "I - I didn't mean to - he was -" She stopped sputtering when the Major General smiled at her affectionately and stood straight, chin raised. "I did not appreciate his words. You are the best of men." She looked to them both and nodded defiantly. "There is a skein of yarn in my reticule, we can tie his hands and feet with it and have him moved to wherever you deem appropriate." Three jaws dropped in unison. "What?" She asked innocently. "You have to come prepared!" She pleaded and three smiles split across three surprised faces.

This had become quite the night.

/

Elizabeth smiled to Jane as the warmth from the crowded ballroom chased away the last of her shivers from being out in the cold night air for so long. They had arranged for the Duke and the Major General to get Mr. Wickham back to Netherfield where they would hold him until he awoke and were able to question him further. She shook her head and widened her smile at Jane. Her sister was constantly surprising her and Elizabeth loved it more every time.

"Why are you smiling at me, Lizzie?" Jane whispered under her breath.

"What else is in your reticule, Jane? I could use a good book while I sit this dance out, do you have any poetry?"

Jane blushed a deep red and tried valiantly to hide a smile. "It is not my fault I am prepared, sister." Her blue eyes turned to Elizabeth with a sly look. "And, no poetry." She looked straight ahead and smiled to someone walking past before looking back to her sister. "It is a novel, if you must know."

Elizabeth laughed happily. Her sister was becoming far too adept at her new defiant stance. It was glorious.

Elizabeth was wrapped up in the joy that was her family so she missed, entirely, the crowd parting before her as the Duc made his way methodically to her. Her smile, indicative of her entire being, deflated immediately as she looked forward to find the tall gentleman standing before her, a sneer marring his otherwise handsome face.

"Mademoiselle." He bowed before her, and in a bold, attention gathering move, began to introduce himself. "I believe we have not yet been introduced, I have met your _entire_ family" He looked at her pointedly as he emphasized the words. "but not you. Would you do me the honor?" He held out his hand and the glint in his eye was pure glee. He was happy to have cornered her, happy to taunt that he now knew her _entire_ family - which was false but she did not feel the need to correct him. She froze as all eyes around her turned on the scene before them. The faux pas had clearly been calculated to minimize her chances of denying him a dance. It would only serve to bring more attention to herself. He was a Duke, he could get away with flaunting societal norms but a lowly country lady could not get away with denying him.

She grit her teeth, hard, every nerve ending firing simultaneously as her mind swirled with escape plans. She had been in far worse situations, in far less public places but this felt more dangerous than all of them combined. She opened her mouth hoping against hope something would come out which would extricate her from her predicament before a deep voice came from behind her.

"I apologize, Your Grace, but Miss Elizabeth promised me her last dance." He placed a possessive hand on her waist and pulled her tight to him. "Did you not, my dear?" Mr. Darcy had just gone far beyond the Duc's faux pas, far beyond propriety and well into a full public compromise and Elizabeth didn't even notice, so overwhelming was her relief.

"I believe you did, dearest." The endearment fell from her mouth naturally, easily, without conscious thought. Mr. Darcy's gaze heated as he watched her, then took her by the hand, nodded triumphantly to the Duc and led her to the floor.

They stared at each other, gazes locked, ignoring the low rumble of the crowd around them as the gossip and indignant outrage played out. A slow smile spread across Elizabeth's face as the contrast between the situation she had been prepared for and the feeling of warmth and safety and sheer joy she was experiencing now hit her hard. She was safe. She wasn't alone to deal with every problem she faced by herself. Not anymore.

"I could embrace you right now, Mr. Darcy." The happiness inside her swelled in her chest, nearly painful in its enormity.

"I would not be opposed to such an action, Miss Elizabeth." He smiled down to her and, as though it were possible, her heart ached further.

"Thank you." She said quietly. "How did you return so quickly?"

He shrugged. "Richard can take care of the… transportation. I didn't want to leave you alone with _him._ " He nodded in the direction of the Duc.

"You are making a habit of coming to my rescue." She said quietly as they joined hands in time with the dance.

"This rescue is not without its consequences, Miss Elizabeth."

Elizabeth's eyebrows drew together, creating a confused line between them. "You don't think he will retaliate over a dance, do you?" She began looking around the room for the Duc only to meet the eye of everyone around her, gawking. It took her slow brain, drunk on happiness, far too long to realize what had just happened. Her eyes went wide and her hand flew to her mouth.

Five years. Five long, hellish years she had snuck around London, breaking into homes, posing as scullery maids, hiding behind curtains and, even once, under a bed, and never once had she had her reputation tarnished.

She was ruined.

Tears swelled in her eyes, all her previous joy crashing to the floor.

"Elizabeth." Mr. Darcy whispered.

She looked back up to him, her mind occupied mourning for her reputation, replaying all the hard work and extra effort she had made previously to keep it intact and untarnished.

"Marry me." The soft words less a question and more a plea. Elizabeth found herself caught in the roiling storm of his eyes and nodded slightly. Even in her current, dumbfounded, state she knew there were far worse fates than being tied to a man she trusted with her life.

She should have known his next move would have been to pick her up bodily, his tall, lithe frame molding her to him perfectly but, damn, if it didn't take her by surprise. A laugh escaped her lips as she watched his face glow with happiness, the sound cut off quickly by his lips gently touching hers. Her small intake of breath seemed to echo through the crowd as gasps and shrieks and even a few chuckles surrounded her.

He looked up to the crowd, a conqueror looking over his peoples, and proclaimed loudly. "Miss Elizabeth Bennet has just made me the happiest of men. Congratulations are in order" He smiled down at her. "I have found my Duchess." His smile was wide and happy and completely unaware of the words he had just said out loud.

"Duchess?!" She heard her mother screech above the hum of the crowd. "Did he just say Duchess?!" She couldn't see but she could imagine her mother pushing her way through the crowd to get to them and confirm the Duke's words.

Elizabeth groaned and rolled her head forward to rest on His Grace's chest, closing her eyes and trying desperately to wish herself elsewhere.

This was the loveliest of nightmares.

/


	9. Chapter 75

This should have been posted with yesterdays chapter but I ran out of time and have been slacking something fierce this week. Thanks for putting up with the shenanigans!

 **/**

 **The next day**

 **Netherfield Hall**

Caroline congratulated herself on her calm, impeccable demeanor on the previous evening. She had managed to contain her shock perfectly well and even her disgust, she was quite sure, was _hardly_ noticeable. Not only had she conducted herself in a ladylike manner during the horrid assembly but, while she couldn't know for certain, she was sure she had _hardly_ screamed during _the event._

She couldn't yet bring herself to call it what it had been. _A compromise._ And not in the way she had always dreamed of with His Grace.

She sat on her padded stool, looking at her perfect visage in the mirror while her typically inept lady's maid readied her hair and imagined, for the very last time, herself as a duchess.

Truthfully, the image had lost its luster. Not the image of _her,_ of course, that still shone brighter than anyone before. But, the idea of _marriage_ to the Duke has lost its appeal. She did not feel the anger she thought she would, nor did she feel the need to sabotage the happy, if vulgar, couple. Instead of feeling anger she just felt sad. Hollow.

She missed her husband.

That stupid, tiny Irishman had stolen her heart and it was the rudest thing anyone had ever done to her. How dare he? How _dare_ he make her miss him? _He_ was the one far too busy rebuilding his ancient castle to pay her any mind. _He_ was the one who drove her away with his inattentiveness.

She sighed loudly and her maid cringed, assuming she had made another mistake. Caroline looked over her hair to find one to cover her crude emotions with but, to her utter disappointment, found none.

Nothing was going her way at the moment.

While she didn't truly _want_ to be the Duchess of Montagu, she wasn't _entirely_ happy with the situation at hand.

She knew from her maids that the Major General had brought _someone_ into her home last night. Someone who had bled all over the sheets in the room in which they had been thrown.

She huffed, luckily spotting a hair out of place she could complain about. She tutored her maid diligently on the proper placement of _that_ particular piece of hair, the piece that was absolutely not, not even remotely, sprinkled with a few grey hairs. Her maid fixed her sloppy work and left her alone with her thoughts.

She was worried. No longer for herself, but for her brother. The Duke and the Major General were up to something and were involving her brother in their schemes. Not only _that_ but there was a foreign Duke in her home who was not even trying to be friendly, not even trying to be the barest of _polite._ No. There was something that needed to be done, Caroline was just the lady to do it.

She had need to rid herself of two Dukes and a Major General, and Lady Bedford was up to the task.

She nodded to herself triumphantly in the mirror before turning on her toes in a graceful (if not the _most_ graceful) manner and leaving her rooms.

Only to run right into her most disconcerting Duke.

"Bonjour, Madam Bedford." The handsome, if bothersome Duke bowed to her, clearly waiting for her to leave her rooms. "I wonder if I might have a word with you? Were you aware of your newest guest in the house?"

"Yes, Your Grace, I am aware." She said tersely. Even if she hadn't she would have responded the same, it irked her he was coming to tell her of the goings on in _her_ home.

Well, her brothers home, but she was in charge.

"I will be leaving you soon, to take up a house in… the north" Caroline heard the lie in his voice but she didn't truly care _where_ he was so long as it wasn't at Netherfield. "I thought, to thank you for your… _incroyable_ hospitality, I would be of assistance with ridding you of another of your house guests, non?" He smiled what she could tell _he_ believed to be a persuasive smile.

Caroline had to bite her cheek to stop herself from saying something rash to the arrogant man.

But, still... He _did_ have a point.

/

 **Netherfield Hall**

 **Bingleys Study**

Darcy cringed as Richard calmed his laughter just long enough to wipe tears from his eyes. The story wasn't _that_ humorous, for God's sake.

"So - so then you _picked her up_ , in the middle of the ballroom and _kissed_ her?!" He dissolved into another grossly overstated fit of laughter.

To Darcy, it had been the single greatest night of his life so the humor his cousin found in it only served to make him rather perturbed.

"Richard, do stop making a spectacle of yourself."

This only prompted further laughter. "Yes, we can't all be like you." He barely got the words out for the laughing.

He wiped his eyes again before slowing bringing himself under control, still chuckling every now and then. "Was she happy?"

Darcy immediately began to respond in the positive only to stop himself. Was she? She had said yes, hadn't she?

"Yes?" He responded, finding his own voice rather weak.

"You don't know?" Richard had sobered but still looked annoyingly amused.

"No." Darcy snapped. "She was whisked away rather quickly." He turned abruptly to look out the window.

He stared at a small figure, obviously female, trudging through the mud forcefully heading directly towards Nether- oh God.

It was Elizabeth.

Her bonnet had been blown off and her tumble of unruly curls had very nearly exploded. He would know those curls anywhere.

He swallowed thickly, excitement warring with fear. He was a peer of the realm, he had faced down half of the House of Lords at one time or another and made enemies of the other half. He had spent years being reviled by the ton, being accepted for only his title but talked about incessantly and not even quietly. He had done all of that and never once had he been afraid. Lonely and bitter, perhaps, but never afraid.

This small woman stomping directly towards him scared him to his core.

"Richard." Darcy snapped at his gawking cousin. "Get out." The bastard chuckled some more. "Now." He didn't take his eyes from the approaching storm that was his Elizabeth. "And tell Bingley to have her sent in here." He called over his shoulder before his cheerful cousin retreated to safety, leaving him to brave the coming onslaught.

He took a deep breath and turned to the writing desk once she had come around to the side of the house and out of his view.

He was strong, a Duke!, he could handle a tiny woman he desperately wanted to make his wife.

He was sure of it.

Absolutely certain.

Yes.

He could hear the butler open the door for her and question why she was here at such an early hour. He groaned and stood from the desk, clearly he should have asked Richard to notify the butler instead of Bingley.

"Sir, I realize it is quite early but I have need to speak to… well, to speak with my fiancé, Mr. Darcy, er, Montagu, His Grace." Darcy stopped midstride, frozen by her words. The butler said something to her but he was facing away from the study and his voice didn't carry. "Yes, I will wait here." He heard Elizabeth's response and moved to leave the room.

It wouldn't do to keep his _fiancée_ waiting.

He left the room with a grin. Once Elizabeth came into view, she looked up at him and matched his smile briefly before charging towards him, eyes twinkling but face inscrutable.

" _ **You**_." She bellowed at him before grabbing his hand and dragging him back into the study.

"Good morning, _fiancée._ " He beamed at her when they reached the study.

"Do not attempt to charm me, Your Grace, it will not work after the night I have had." She narrowed her eyes at him but they were far too soft to do the damage she intended.

"And what kind of night would that be, Elizabeth?" He forced all emotion from his voice, fear of rejection creeping into his mind. Stupid Richard and his stupid questions.

"You kissed me!" She threw her arms wide. "In front of all of Meryton!"

He cleared his throat. "Yes. I should apologize for that."

"Yes! You should!"

"I apologize if I embarrassed you."

"What? You're not sorry you picked me up and kissed me in front of people I have known my entire life?"

"Not really, no."

She stopped at that, mouth open, eyes wide. It was exactly the moment he needed.

"Elizabeth, listen to me." He was deadly serious in his tone. "I _was_ wrong. I truly am sorry to have compromised you so… thoroughly." His lip ticked up at the word and she closed her mouth to smirk. "But, I promise you" he stepped forward. "With everything I am and with everything I have that I will endeavor everyday to make you happy. You will not regret marriage to me."

Her eyes softened fully and a small smile graced her lovely face. "It did not cross my mind to regret marrying you." She stepped forward as well, bringing them so close she needed to look up at him. "I am not an idiot, Your Grace, marrying a man I trust with my life is not something for which I would have cause to repine." He couldn't help himself, he reached out to touch her cheek lightly.

"That is good to hear, Elizabeth." His heart was thudding in his chest so hard he was sure she could hear it from her vantage point.

She closed her eyes at his soft touch and opened them with a full smile. "I do not know your name, Your Grace."

The sound of his heart beating wildly was nearly deafening and he tried to swallow down the emotion choking him.

"Fitzwilliam, Elizabeth. My name is Fitzwilliam."

"Fitz-" he cut her off with a kiss. He couldn't help it, he was sure to die if he heard his name come from her perfect lips.

They were occupied thus, happily, unable to hear the intruder walking into the study.

"My, but you two can not stop, can you?" The silky smooth, thickly accented voice sent shivers down Elizabeth's spine, Darcy could feel them travel the length of her back. They broke their kiss and she turned quickly putting her back to Darcy and standing in front of him protectively. He tried to move her but was unable, he instead put his hands on her shoulders, ready to move her forcibly if necessary.

The Duc chuckled. "Do not worry. I am not about to cause a scene here, now am I?" He smiled at them. "It has been a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Elizabeth. I feel as though we have known one another for a very long time, non?"

"What do you want?" Elizabeth ground out in a low, dangerous tone.

"Nothing for now, I assure you." He waved his hand dismissively "I have what I want. I will simply come back for the rest." Before they could question him, Bingley strolled into the room bouncing on his toes.

"Ahh, just the man I wanted to see! Richard told me-" He smiled wide to Darcy, oblivious to the standoff before him. "Oh, hello!" He said cheerfully to Elizabeth. "I do not believe we have been introduced." He looked pointedly to Darcy.

The Duc coughed politely. "Yes, before you begin your little, um, _chat_ , I was simply coming to take my leave of His Grace." He smiled wickedly and bowed low. "It has been a great pleasure meeting you both. I am _sure_ we will meet again." His smile never faltered and he turned quickly to leave.

All three watched him retreat quietly and Darcy could feel Elizabeth's shoulders, still so tense they were nearly meeting her ears, shake ever so slightly.

"Capital!" Bingley broke the silence with glee. "The man _was_ rather unsettling, wasn't he?" He clapped his hands together. "Now where were we? Ah! Yes, introduce me, Darcy." He clapped him on his shoulder heavily in a very masculine show of exuberance. "I believe congratulations are in order!"

/


	10. Chapter 9

**Between Longbourn and Netherfield**

Jane patted her trusty plow horse Penelope tenderly before letting loose a violent sneeze. She cringed as her horse startled slightly and cursed her disproportionately loud bodily function.

For good measure, she cursed her foolhardy sister and the rain as well. Jane was certain up until this moment she had never cursed anyone (or _anything_ for that matter) in her life. But, it felt immensely comforting just now.

When she read Lizzie's note that she was intending to _walk_ to Netherfield to speak with her Duke (who compromised her just the evening prior!) she left immediately. The idea that she would wander off, without a chaperone!, in light of last nights events infuriated her. Lizzie would need to get used to having others help her if they were going to come out of this mess with some semblance of dignity.

Of course, her mother demanded she ride, even with the clouds ominously dark.

She added her mother to her list of people she was cursing and giggled to herself before letting loose another thundering sneeze.

At this rate, she was going to be cursing the entire town of Meryton and all impending weather phenomena.

She was on a roll.

 **/**

 **Netherfield Hall**

 **Bingley's Study**

The multitude of emotions assailing Elizabeth felt as though it were mounting with every minute. The warmth of her Duke's hands, still holding her shoulders tight. The tingle in her lips from his intoxicating kisses. The terror gripping the rest of her being as her mind raced over the Duc's words.

They would meet again.

She knew they would, his sudden retreat couldn't be anything more than strategic, but without the constant buzz of the last few days ringing in her head, she recognized the unfettered terror for what it was.

She had known when Wellesley offered to cut her contract by two years the mission would be nigh on impossible, most probably deadly. At the time, after working unrelentingly alone for five long years, it seemed like a bargain. Death or freedom.

Or, more likely, freedom in death.

A kindly clearing of a throat nudged her out of her thoughts.

"Oh! Yes, thank you, Mr. Bingley." He pulled her from her fear with his heartfelt congratulations, his smile so genuine, so pure, she couldn't help but smile back. "I am very glad to meet you as well. I do apologize for imposing on you at such an hour, I had need to speak with His Grace." She turned her smile up at the Duke, his face slack but his eyes sparkling. "Quite urgently."

Darcy's eyes warmed and she wanted to wallow in their gaze instead of her plethora of worries.

She squared her shoulders instead. Elizabeth Bennet was not made for melancholy and she would see to her problems one at a time, as best she could.

"Yes." The edges of his lips raised in a small smile just for her and he flexed his hands, still resting on her collar bones. "Quite urgently." He maintained eye contact with her but addressed Mr. Bingley. "Charles, would you excuse us, we have much to discuss-"

"I'll bet you do!" Bingley said happily and with a laugh, her fiance broke eye contact to glare at his friend menacingly.

It was adorable.

"Yes, yes, I am going!" Mr. Bingley laughed affably. "But, I am leaving the door open, mind you." He looked at the pair pointedly and her Duke glared harder. Bingley bowed to Elizabeth, still chuckling. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Elizabeth. I do hope you will stay for tea, it has just started to rain and I am sure my sister would not hear of you returning in this weather."

"Yes, _Miss_ Elizabeth, you should stay for tea." The Duke said the word _Miss_ as though it insulted him.

"Well, then, I believe I shall." She smiled back to him before turning to Bingley. "Thank you, Mr. Bingley."

The amiable man bowed before he quit the room, whistling a tune and with a bounce to his step.

The atmosphere changed quickly, heating as soon as Mr. Bingley was out of sight. She pulled herself from the Duke's comforting touch, her entire being rebelling against the movement.

They really did have things to discuss and the man was remarkably distracting.

His hands seemed to follow her as she stepped out of their reach, grasping for her before dropping gracefully to his side.

"Your Grace, we _do_ have much to discuss." She took a deep breath, fighting to tamp down her slowly rising anxiety. "Do you truly wish to _marry_ me?" She blurted out her question and forced herself to meet his eye. "You know nothing of me. You know nothing of what I have done." She chuckled but it held little humor. "I could be a horrendous fishwife."

His left eyebrow arched high on his brow but his face showed little else. "Perhaps I was looking for a fishwife for my Duchess."

She sputtered a laugh. "Then I truly hate to disappoint you, Your Grace, but I do not believe I _am_ a fishwife."

"Pity. You showed so much potential." He smiled, unable to hide his laughter. Elizabeth watched, marveling at the transformation of his entire being when he laughed.

He sobered quickly, reverting back to his natural reserve. "But, you are correct, Miss Elizabeth, we do have much to discuss. Will you sit?" He motioned for the chair near her and she sat mechanically, still slightly dazed by his laughter. He truly was a gorgeous man.

"Before I begin, I must again apologize for my actions last night. I -" He stopped for a moment, seeming to search for words. "When I realized I had compromised you in front of the Duc, I believe I allowed myself to become... carried away."

"Three women fainted, Your Grace."

"Yes, well, like I said, _carried awa_ y." He smiled again at her tease and she was sure her insides were melting. "I will need to speak to your father as soon as possible." He looked concerned briefly but he needn't have, she doubted her father would care either way.

"I am of age, Your Grace, there is no need to speak to my father."

His eyebrows drew together in question. "I would like to speak to him nonetheless."

She took another deep breath. "Were you able to get anything out of Mr. Wickham?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Are you avoiding the topic?"

"Yes. Absolutely." She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, his eyebrows rose high but he remained silent, waiting. "My father is not… in the best of spirits at the moment. He… well, I believe he feels incredible guilt for my having to finish his _contractual arrangement_." She quirked an eyebrow. "He hasn't spoken to me since I have returned."

He looked puzzled. "Your current situation is not of your doing?"

"No, did you believe me to be _that_ idiotic?"

He levelled an unamused look at her. "I do not believe that word ever crossed my mind in reference to yourself. But, I suppose I believed there to be a good reason. You do not strike me as an adventure seeker."

She shrugged. "When I was younger, I truly believed there was nothing I could not do. Not a thing I could not endure." She shrugged again, feeling awkward at the topic of conversation. "I have survived as best I can."

He watched her, assessing, his gaze warm and sympathetic.

"Now" she continued, not wanting to remain on the topic any longer than necessary. "Were you able to get anything out of Mr. Wickham?"

As though he could feel her discomfort he dropped the topic easily. That moment of consideration oddly enough made her want to cry. He actually _cared_ about her comfort.

"A little. He was in quite a lot of pain." He gave her a sly look. "Your sisters did a number on his nose." Elizabeth brightened with pride. Her sister's _had_ done a number on the man. "Richard withheld laudanum until he gave us _something_ and he eventually told us my father utilized a coded system, which he taught to Wickham, when writing his letters. All of which he kept, to be delivered to me or my sister in the event of his death." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "It is _Wickhams_ belief that his letters are now with the man who originally captured him, a General MacDonald."

Elizabeth nodded seriously. "If MacDonald was given his letters and they were not deemed to be of import, he would still have them. _If_ he agreed to take them and deliver them, I am quite sure he would do so to his best ability." Her Duke looked confused for a moment so she elaborated. "He is considered honorable, even by those of us working against him."

He watched her briefly, puzzling something in his mind. "Be that as it may, we will need Wickham to decipher the letters. Even if nothing comes of them, MacDonald will have knowledge of my father's location or, at the very least, the identity of the person he was handed to. But, Elizabeth" He looked at her with grave determination. "I do not want you coming with me to Spain. Richard has agreed to go back with me but I will _not_ take _my wife_ into an ongoing war."

Elizabeth felt a tingle run down her spine when he called her his wife. She smiled, as much from the sensation as the protectiveness of her Duke.

"I would not _want_ to go to Spain, Your Grace. And, you are lucky neither of us will need to as I would not want _my_ _husband_ there either." He narrowed his eyes at her, looking oddly conflicted, so she explained. "MacDonald is no longer in Spain, he and most of the Grande Armee are heading north, to Russia of all places."

"Richard fought _against_ him in Spain. He was quite certain the General was still there when he left."

"He most likely was." She nodded. "Do you remember when I told you of my uncle?"

Elizabeth rose and walked to a large globe, placed in a stately fashion near them.

Darcy had risen from his seat to stand beside her, his presence unbalancing in such proximity.

"Yes, He was on his way to Belgium, was it?"

"Indeed. He is gathering information on the approaching army." She took a deep breath. "Napoleon intends to invade Russia. From what the we have been able to gather he is on his way there now."

She looked down to the globe and traced a trail from the Italian coast to St. Petersburg. "Here." She circled a portion of the former Holy Roman Empire. "This area is technically occupied by France but the people are rising against them, and it is friendly for the most part. We could intercept MacDonald here, while he is busy with the transportation of an entire army and preparing for war on a new front."

Her Duke studied the map intently, absently caressing her hand and inadvertently making her mind go entirely blank.

"Would here suffice?" He took the her hand still on the globe and gently moved it slightly.

Elizabeth looked down to the spot. "Yes" She swallowed to hold back a groan as he continued his ministrations. "I can think of no reason why it wouldn't. It's a logical path northward so the Armee should be going through at least _near_ it. Does it hold any significance to you?" She looked up to him in question.

He shrugged. "I know of someone who will be desirous of returning there. He will be of help getting there."

Her eyebrows raised but he continued caressing _both_ her hands now and she was not positive she would ever fully regain conscious thought.

"That will be fine." She barely recognized the low, nearly hoarse voice coming from her lips. She cleared her throat and withdrew a hand, leaving one in his grasp for good measure. "Who is this person?"

Darcy chuckled, eyes twinkling. "A friend." Was all he would give her. "You will meet him soon enough, I believe. I will write to him immediately" He moved to caress her cheek. "Now, where were we?" He murmured softly before leaning down to kiss her lips lightly.

Her mind was officially gone and she had no desire to find it at the moment.

/

Darcy's own mind whirled from the feel of Elizabeth's soft lips against his. The feel of her in his arms coupled with the sounds she made as he kissed her with ever gathering fervor was very nearly overwhelming. His knees grew weak as she mewled lightly when he pulled on her beguiling lower lip.

He would need to stop.

The thought of his becoming overwrought and pushing her too far sobered him quickly. He had already compromised her into marriage and, though she was taking it in stride, he felt an immense weight of guilt at forcing her hand. He wanted her, that was sure (and painfully obvious) but, he wanted her to want _him_ as well.

He also had many things he needed to tell her before they married.

Those thoughts brought him from his happy stupor fully.

He pulled back and took a moment to marvel at her upturned face. Flush with emotion, eyes closed, lips parted ever so slightly, she was breathtaking. She slowly opened her expressive brown eyes to him and his breath fled in a loud exhale. If he could steal moments like this every day he would be, by far and away, the luckiest man in all of the world.

He smiled to her softly and kissed the tip of her nose in a show of affection he had never even contemplated.

"I'm afraid we still have much to discuss." His smile turned devious. "You are far too distracting."

She laughed and the deep, throaty sound washed over his being. It took all his willpower to stop him from initiating another kiss. "I believe it is _you_ doing most of the distracting, Your Grace."

He scoffed in mock affront and gave her waist a squeeze. "Not possible, Miss Elizabeth."

She laughed again and he decided very quickly he would also spend the rest of his days eliciting that sound as much as humanly possible.

Before he could either cave to his cravings and commence kissing the enticing woman before him _or_ begin the long, painful, but all too necessary task of warning her of his family's tattered reputation, they were stopped by the sound of the front door being opened for a new visitor.

Darcy could hear the rain punishing the facade of the house, what had started as an average sprinkling of english rain had transformed quickly into a raging downpour, any visitor coming in from that storm would be soaked through to the bone.

He and Elizabeth had frozen in place to better hear the goings on in the front of the house. As soon as a female voice, he belatedly recognized as Miss Bennet's, wafted into their room, his Elizabeth was darting out of his arms and into the hall, eyes wide.

He moved quickly after her, catching up in a few long strides.

A loud boom echoed through the foyer and he grabbed Elizabeth by the arm to pull her into him, not looking for the source of the sound but focusing on keeping her out of harms way.

He pulled her into his chest and pushed against the wall, his mind racing as he began looking around them for their attacker.

The sound of muffled laughter eventually broke through his frantic searching.

The boom sounded again, only this time he could hear the pleading, feminine apology that followed.

"Oh, I am s-s-s-s" He looked back to the front door, loosing his grip on Elizabeth, to see her sister, Miss Bennet, standing in the doorway, mortified and sopping wet. She seemed to be stifling another sneeze and it took a moment before she could continue. "I apologize, S-s-sir." She trembled slightly and he pulled back fully, allowing Elizabeth to run to her sister.

"Jane!" She called out as she ran the length of the hallway to her sister, still wiping at the butlers coat where she had clearly sneezed on him. She looked up from her work when she heard her sister call to her and smiled before sneezing again miserably.

"Oh, Jane." Elizabeth soothed. "Why did you come here?"

Miss Bennet trembled again, looking flushed, either from fever or embarrassment. "Y-y-you" her teeth seemed to chatter and it took her a moment to calm herself. "You should not be h-here with-without a chaperone, L-lizzie."

Elizabeth's entire being drooped. He could see the guilt pulling her down.

"Why did you not take the carriage?" Elizabeth asked quietly.

"M-m-mama needed it."

Elizabeth cringed but before she could say anything Richard came bounding down the stairs, eyes wide.

"Who was shot?" He demanded, looking to Darcy across the entryway, not in view of the sisters yet.

Miss Bennet, if possible, grew more flushed a frown forming even as she began to sniffle in preparation for the pending sneeze.

Richard came into her view as soon as she let loose her latest, possibly loudest, auditory assault and he froze. His eyes changing from excited panic to gentle worry in a flash.

"Miss Bennet." Even Darcy could here the reverence in his voice. "Are you well?"

She smiled a flat smile and tried wiping her nose with her soaked handkerchief.

"Allow me." He pulled out his handkerchief and handed it to her before swooping her into his arms.

She hardly seemed startled at the motion, nestling her head in the crook of his neck easily.

Richard looked back to Darcy, the gentleness in his eyes fading back into panic, but for entirely different reasons.

"Call for the apothecary, now." He growled the order before looking down at the wilting Miss Bennet. "And the surgeon. And anyone else with _any_ medical expertise." He looked back to the butler. "You, sir, I will place Miss Bennet in the room next to mine, I believe it was prepared before our arrival, I need a fire made and tea brought up immediately." The butler nodded but did not yet move. "Now!" His growl was incredibly menacing and the butler moved quickly to his task.

Richard turned to Miss Elizabeth, seemingly prepared to yell an order at her but Darcy stepped forward, placing his hand on her shoulder and Richard closed his mouth and took a deep breath before he continued in a softer, but still commanding tone. "Miss Elizabeth, Miss Bennet will need a change of clothes, she is soaked through, will you write to your home to have them brought?"

He did not wait for her to so much as nod before he was bounding up the stairs, cradling Miss Bennet in his arms as though she were precious.

He looked down to Elizabeth, openly gawking at his retreating form.

Bingley casually strolled down the hall opposite them.

"I say, that was quite the racket." He smiled to them happily, his smile fading as two glares were directed his way. "What? What did I say?"

Darcy groaned loudly.

"Bingley, we need you to send a footman for the doctor, Miss Bennet just arrived and she took ill on the ride here."

Bingley's face turned from slight amusement to deadly serious and he had to give his friend credit, when he was given a task, and precise direction, he was unstoppable.

"I will do so immediately." He turned to find a footman and Miss Elizabeth stopped him.

"I wonder if I could also trouble you to send to Longbourn for some of my sister's necessities, Mr. Bingley? I'm afraid we may need to stay the evening, depending on her illness."

The serious expression his friend held stayed in place but he seemed to be simultaneously suppressing a smile.

"Of course, Miss Elizabeth. I will send my coach to gather the doctor and her necessities right away. You will need help as well. I will ask Miss Mary for assistance." He nodded to himself as though it hadn't been his idea and darted away, a man on a mission.

Elizabeth now gawked at _his_ retreating form and Darcy chuckled at her.

The men of the house had all lost their senses and none of them were in their right minds to care.

/


	11. Chapter 10

**Netherfield Hall**

 **The next morning**

Mary walked carefully down the hall, carrying the hot tisane she had prepared with Elizabeth's excellent instructions. She smiled to herself so wide she nearly wobbled the pot and had to move quickly to rebalance the hot liquid. She _knew_ she had completed her task perfectly. She smiled again at her triumph, making sure to do so with less gusto this time.

It felt _so good_. She was a _part_ of something. Relied on by _someone_. Given tasks and it was necessary that she fulfill them. She wasn't just a bystander or the person hiding behind a fern no one noticed.

She was noticed!

She and her two elder sisters had sat up nearly all night long, sitting on Jane's sick bed discussing the situation Elizabeth found herself. And, she was going to help.

Her happiness was palpable, beaming from her flushed cheeks like a beacon. She wiggled slightly as she made her way up the stairs. Her mother had very conveniently packed a trunk for her three eldest daughters containing dresses for the two eldest and _Lydia_. Mary was unfortunately nearly the exact same size as their youngest sister and therefore forced to wear the ruffled mess out of necessity. It was a small price to pay to be a part of the group, however, and she wore it with as much pride as she could muster with a rather cold, exposed chest.

As she approached Jane's sick room, she could hear the muffled voices of she and Elizabeth speaking. If she had to guess, it was Elizabeth apologizing to Jane for the 12th time.

Elizabeth was the best of them, Mary had felt thus since they were children. She was always the first to stand up for what she thought was right and good and, even if she was horribly misguided, would defend her position with all her being.

She gave her all, all the time.

But she had yet to learn how to work with others.

Now that Mary was a member of the elite sister group, she was fully planning to help her do just that.

"Elizabeth." She heard Jane snap in a very uncharacteristic way. "It was my decision to follow you even without the carriage." Her most serene of sisters sat up straighter in the fluffy bed and lifted her chin. "And I would do so again if need be." She nodded resolutely.

"You were correct to do so, Jane." Mary said quietly as she made her way to the bedside, clearly startling her two sisters. She had always had a knack for stealth, even when she did not mean to do so.

"Oh! Mary! Thank you!" Jane took the proffered cup and cradled it in her hands seeming to soak up the warmth from the cup. She did a double take briefly and her red rimmed blue eyes widened. "Is that dress one of Lydia's?!"

Now Elizabeth rose to look at her. "It is!" She turned Mary around, looking her up and down. "Mary, you look beautiful!" She clucked when she got to the rather low cut decolletage. "Most definitely Lydia's."

Jane nodded and narrowed her eyes at Mary's rather prominently displayed chest. "I have just the thing!" She smiled wide and set her cup down, scrambling to get out of bed. Both she and Elizabeth protested loudly but Jane waved them off.

"I truly am fine. I plan to go down to break my fast so I need to get out of bed anyhow." Jane found her overly large reticule she had made herself to be far larger than the rest of theirs.

She did so enjoy being as prepared as possible.

She rummaged through the bag, pulling out knitting needles, thread, a pouch of buttons, even a half finished tunic she was embroidering for the tenant family with a baby on the way. "Ah ha!" She pulled out a piece of delicate lace, wrinkled ever so slightly. "This will do nicely." She smiled wide and lifted the lace to Mary's chest.

It did not cover her as much as she would have liked, and no where near what she was used to but it did make her feel less exposed.

"Thank you, Jane." Mary smiled brightly and turned so Jane could fasten the lace in the back. "Yes." She turned to look in the mirror, not entirely recognizing the person before her. "Much better!"

Elizabeth came from behind Mary and squeezed her younger sister.

"Mary, you have turned into a beautiful woman, I feel, overnight." She flicked her borrowed dress. "And it's not just the dress. Thank you for all your help."

Mary blushed furiously and felt her heart expand painfully in her chest.

She truly was a part of something. Something all too wonderful.

A knock on the door interrupted the sisters. And at Jane's assent, the door was opened.

Mr. Bingley poked his head inside the door before Mary, startled, stopped him.

"Mr. Bingley! You can not enter!"

He nearly pulled the door back in on his own head. "No! Of course! I wasn't… that is." His voice was muffled by the door so he pushed his lips, out as though imitating a duck, to project into the room without actually entering, or looking. "I was just wondering if Miss Mary would like to take a walk with me before breakfast." He moved back from the door before squeezing his lips back through the small opening. "It is very pleasant outside." He pulled back again only to return once more just as quickly. "And I will abscond a few rolls before we leave if you are hungry."

Mary ignored her two sister's knowing and obnoxiously wide smiles as they hid their giggles in their hands. She threw them both a narrowed eye look before moving to the door.

Mr. Bingley had apparently been about to say something else for he leaned forward, lips pushed into the cracked door and nearly fell forward when Mary pulled the door open wide. She caught him by the shoulders and pushed him back slightly so she could shut the door and maintain her sisters privacy.

"Miss Mary!" Mr. Bingley exclaimed happily as she pushed him back before he caught a glimpse of her…. ahem… dress. " _Miss Mary_ ". His voice was lower, and ever so slightly dazed.

"Yes, Mr. Bingley, I… um…" she tilted her head to the side watching the handsome man before her whose face was frozen in wide eyed, slack jawed awe. "Mr. Bingley?"

No answer.

"Mr. Bingley?"

"Hmmm?" He asked not taking his eyes from her.

She waved her hand in front of his face and he startled.

"Oh! Yes! Good morning, Miss Mary! I was… well, that is to say..." He cleared his throat and with an obvious effort kept his eyes on hers. "Shall we?" He offered her his arm, smiling wide.

They walked in companionable silence to the front door, stopping briefly at the breakfast room for Mr. Bingley to pilfer the promised rolls, before heading to the front door to don their outerwear.

As Mary bent her arms and twisted slightly to allow the butler to put her pelise on her, she noticed that same glassy eyed expression on Mr. Bingley's face. It didn't take long to realize that he was staring directly at her _chest._

Her still very exposed chest.

Hmm.

It was a rather curious situation Mary found herself in. She felt she should be outraged at the pleasant gentleman currently ogling her breasts. Everything she had thought about the world and life in general up to that point screamed at her to tell him to stop. But, and this was the pivotal revelation for Mary, she didn't feel _any_ of those things. In fact, she felt an incredible surge of power course through her... along with a furious blush. In that moment she well understood why her youngest sister would want to wear dresses such as the one she had on. The power she currently held over Mr. Bingley could easily be misconstrued as some sort of control.

Maybe Lydia dressed this way to gain some semblance of control over her life?

Curious.

Mary still didn't feel comfortable being _this_ exposed but she began to understand the difference between hiding yourself and allowing yourself to be _seen_. Not for her ample bosom, of course, but for her - who _she_ was.

And, at this moment, she felt about as far from a potato as humanly possible.

"Miss Mary." Mr. Bingley spoke quietly and she realized they had been walking again in silence.

"Oh, Mr. Bingley! I apologize, I was woolgathering. Did you - um, did you need something?"

He beamed a smile at her so bright it threatened to throw her off balance. "I confess, I did. You offered to help me and I have need of some assistance." He ran his hands through his hair. "I hope you will not think ill of me, Miss Mary." His usually happy demeanor was clouded with a sudden insecurity.

"Mr. Bingley, I do not believe I _could_ think ill of you, sir." Where had this sudden feeling of power come from? Mary hoped the happiness of the last two days was going to stay. She wasn't sure she would be able to go back to hiding behind ferns.

Mr. Bingley smiled happily and placed his hand on top of hers, snugly resting in the crook of his arm.

"Thank you, Miss Mary." He looked forward as the entered the small park, to the side of the house. "It is my sister." He peeked a look at Mary, seeming to examine her countenance. "She is upset over… er, some of the _goings on_ at Netherfield and has repeatedly told me she is _taking care_ of the issues. I confess, I am afraid of what she might -" He halted suddenly, his feet stopping along with his words. "What _is_ that?" He tilted his head looking at a large bush leading from the back of the house.

It took Mary but a moment to change gears and look in the direction he was indicating.

"Hmm. Curious." She mumbled to herself before leaning forward to get a better look. She pulled back quickly, as though burned. "Blood, Mr. Bingley. I am quite sure this is blood."

/

Richard wearily made his way downstairs, slowing his step so as to not overtake Bingley and Miss Mary as they prepared for their walk. The two were a surprising fit but Richard was happy for the man. Bingley hadn't been waxing eloquent about her "angelic" looks the way he seemed prone to do (though he did insist she was the prettiest of the Bennet sisters, to which both he and Darcy disagreed). Instead he had been asking the men what Miss Mary would think about every menial decision he made.

"Do you think Miss Mary likes parsnips? What about turnips?"

Richard chuckled as he remembered the scowl Bingley's sister had on her face as her menu was second guessed against what Mr. Bingley thought Miss Mary would enjoy.

He caught the two of them leaving the house so he slipped into the breakfast room, blissfully alone.

It had been a hard night for the Major General. Between questioning Wickham again (to no avail) and worrying over Miss Bennet, his nightmares seemed nearly fitting with the rest of his worries.

Mornings were still the worst, however. Images of the night before still played in his mind and his leg ached the most after laying down for so long.

He took a glass from the sideboard, not bothering with a plate just yet, and filled his cup with brandy Bingley had stocked just for him.

He sat with a loud 'thunk' and stared at the amber liquid, swirling it around the glass and watching the light play through it, as he went back over a multitude of unpleasant thoughts. So caught up in the terror of the night was he that he missed entirely the sounds of happiness wafting through the corridor.

The door to the breakfast room opened and Darcy guided Miss Elizabeth inside before turning to guide Miss Bennet in as well.

 _His_ Miss Bennet.

He was on his feet in an instant.

"Miss Bennet? Should you be out of bed?" He was next to her in a flash, holding her arm and forcing himself _not_ to pick her up.

She smiled at him and the warmth of her gaze seemed to clear his mind, offering him a momentary respite from himself. He damn near sighed.

He pulled out her chair, moving it slightly to the side to be closer to _his_ chair before moving to make her a plate.

He piled on as much as the ridiculously small plate would take and brought it to her, pride surging through him at the feeling of providing for her.

She giggled when he placed the food in front of her. "Major General, do you truly expect me to eat _all_ of this?"

He sat next to her with a smile, debating going and getting another roll to add to the pile.

"You need your strength, Miss Bennet."

"And you? Where is your breakfast?" She looked around playfully but Richard couldn't help the shame he felt. His eyes darted to his glass then back down at the table, not entirely sure what to say, how to explain.

He stared at the tablecloth before he felt her hand move to his under the table and he looked up at her in shock. She gave him a beautiful smile, not one of pity, he knew those all too well, and squeezed his hand, her cool demeanor unphased.

"It's a good thing I have so much." She said quietly but happily and buttered a roll before handing it to him. "We can share."

He was speechless, holding a hot breakfast bun in his hand while the butter melted and ran down the side. He wanted to look away, to say something equally as enchanting or do something other than stare at the most wonderful woman he had ever met, but he was incapable of doing anything other than that at the moment.

His frozen awe was broken as the door to the room was once again opened. This time was not nearly as pleasant, sadly.

Bingleys sister, Lady Bedford, pranced into the room. Richard was certainly not aware of ladies fashion but he did not believe wearing a hat was quite the thing one did as they broke their fast. Especially not one sporting an _actual_ fowl.

He stood mechanically, welcoming her into the room. Darcy followed suit, moving slightly away from Miss Elizabeth as he had also pulled her chair far too close.

She stopped as she entered the room, surveying the inhabitants suspiciously, one by one. By the time she got to him, he had already sat back down, allowing Darcy the privilege of fetching her plate. He turned to speak to Miss Bennet before her dramatic inhalation startled him.

 _Not again._

"Major General!" Her voice was scolding, as though he were a child and not a grown man, a bloody warrior. "Do you have _brandy_ in _my_ breakfast parlor?!"

Her huff made him want to lose all sense of propriety and tell her exactly what he thought.

He started to say something, what it was he couldn't tell for the wonderful woman next to him shocked him speechless yet again.

"I apologize, Lady Bedford." Miss Bennet said in her naturally tempering tone. "It is for me." She forced a cough into her hand. "My, um, my mother believes it is good for the chest when ill." She picked up the glass, looking slightly nervous as she did so, and downed the contents in one large gulp.

She sputtered immediately and coughed in earnest before standing. "Ahh, much better." She barely croaked the words out in between coughs. "Now, if you will excuse me." Her voice stayed hoarse but she walked out of the room with her head held high.

Richard looked to Darcy and Miss Elizabeth, both still watching the door Miss Bennet had just quit, and he smiled wide, turning the happy gaze on Lady Bedford.

"It is medicinal, of course." He then strolled from the room to chase down his angel.

He found her not very far down the hall and he watched her stumble slightly before she righted herself. He ran to her, not even feeling his thigh scream as he did so, and scooped her up into his arms, placing a light kiss, their first, on her lips.

"Thank you." He whispered in quiet reverence.

"Thank you!" She giggled happily. "I was not entirely certain I was going to make it up the stairs. There are so many of them!"

"You are drunk, Miss Bennet." He squeezed her tight to him.

"Yes, I believe you are correct, Major General." She nodded to him seriously before falling into a fit of giggles.

He watched as she laughed. Her face majestic in the happy movement, the sound, so wonderful he wished he could keep it with him always as a balm to his entire being. He wished to keep _her_ with him always.

"Major General." She had stopped her giggles but they were still present in her voice.

"Yes, Miss Bennet?"

"Will you marry me?"

He stopped walking, nearly losing his grip on her so he pulled her back in tighter.

"Are you - are you _proposing_ to me?"

She closed her eyes and nodded, a wide smile splitting her face. "I am, Major General. I would also like for you to kiss me again."

He leaned in to acquiesce to her incredibly reasonable request but she stopped him with a delicate hand to his chest.

"Not unless you say yes, Major General." She had lost her giggles, her face still glowing with happiness but looking at him earnestly, hopefully.

"Yes, Miss Bennet. Dear God, yes." His lips crashed to hers, and they lost themselves, coming up for air only to delve back into the joy of intimate physical connection. He faintly heard the sound of the front door slamming and footsteps gaining on them but he could not be bothered to look up.

Richard had just found the greatest happiness the world had to offer and he was not about to give it up.

Not for anything.

/


	12. Chapter 11

**Netherfield Hall**

 **Breakfast Room**

Elizabeth stifled as smile as the hat Lady Bedford wore bobbled, the taxidermy bird looking for all its lifelessness as though it would take flight to escape the shaking of its perch. Her hat looked uncannily like Elizabeth's favorite disguise, just obviously worn for a completely different purpose.

What possible purpose, Elizabeth did not fully understand. Most especially since it was still quite early for such things.

Lady Bedford turned her glare on Elizabeth and Elizabeth fought a shudder. The woman was beyond angry. Hurt, self pity and an odd longing conjoined with her anger to make her a truly formidable foe.

"I see you're awake early." Elizabeth wasn't sure who she had addressed as she was no longer _looking_ at either she or Darcy. After her flash of anger, Lady Bedford would not make eye contact with either of them.

Odd.

"Yes, Lady Bedford" Elizabeth went with a cheerful tone, trying to diffuse the awkward situation. The Duke had made a small plate for the lady and set it across from him at the table before sitting back down next to Elizabeth. They were still closer than technically appropriate and he seemed to lean into her ever so slightly, narrowing the small gap even more. "Truth be told, I am usually an early riser. I tend to be up with the sun whether I want to or no." She smiled at the woman, who was scowling at her plate as though it also offended her.

"Why have you risen so early Lady Bedford?" Darcy hadn't looked away from the woman opposite them, his gaze intent and, if she read him correctly, suspicious.

Very odd.

"I _occasionally_ enjoy early mornings, Your Grace."

Darcy sat back in his seat, his body still tense but he no longer looked as though preparing himself to lunge for the strange lady.

"It is pleasant out this morning, Lady Bedford. Perhaps you were contemplating a walk?" Elizabeth smiled a wooden smile but the lady didn't look up to see her effort.

Lady Bedford glanced at the door, then past Elizabeth's head to look out the window. She cringed, but quickly recovered.

"Ah, no. No walk today, I am afraid. I believe I will be going to town for a little while. There must be some manner of shopping to be had even _here."_ Elizabeth was glad to see the lady could power through her discomfort to throw a barb at her, admittedly quaint, town.

"Yes, Mr. Marsden runs the millinery sh-" her words died as she heard the front door slam and heavy footfalls come their way. All three in the breakfast room stood as the footsteps came closer.

"I say, old chap!" Elizabeth heard Mr. Bingley exclaim loudly. "For heaven's sake, how have _I_ become a chaperone in this home?" He said, apparently to _someone_ , most likely Mary. "Unhand Miss Bennet and come back to the breakfast room. Miss Mary and I have news to share."

She heard a muffled reply, followed by a hiccuped giggle. Lady Bedford rolled her eyes hard and, for only the second time, looked at Elizabeth with narrowed eyes before looking away in disgust.

The door burst open and Mary strolled in, followed very closely by Mr. Bingley and the Major General… still holding Jane. They wore matching smiles, so wide they must be slightly painful. The Duke reached under the table and squeezed her hand, keeping them lightly entwined but out of view of the others. It should have been a comforting gesture but he seemed to sense danger she had yet to realize and that bothered her.

"Mr. Wickham is gone." Mary stated evenly.

"And we found blood!" Mr. Bingley chimed in excitedly.

Mary looked up to Mr. Bingley and smiled wide. "We did, didn't we?"

"Yes, Miss Mary. And it was _you_ who identified it as blood." His pride was apparent not only in his tone but his beaming features.

The pair were far too happy to have discovered something possibly gruesome together.

Out of the corner of her eye, Elizabeth caught the rustle of feathers as Lady Bedford dropped her head quickly, staring back at the table wide eyed. She was sure she heard her repeat the word 'blood' questioningly before schooling her features.

Her Duke did not miss the movement either.

"Lady Bedford, would you know something of this?" His Grace spoke with such calm authority, Elizabeth couldn't help but be impressed. If she weren't sitting so close she wouldn't have known his entire body was tense.

"Your Grace, but I'm sure I do not know what you mean?" She waved her hand and attempted a small smile.

Darcy sat lounging in the chair with that carelessly statuesque posture Elizabeth had only seen in the titled classes. "I'm afraid I don't quite believe that, Lady Bedford."

Mr. Bingley laughed uncomfortably. "Darcy, I'm sure she wouldn't have gone that far. You wouldn't, right Caroline?"

"Oh, do be quiet, Charles." She snapped at her brother.

"Now, that was not necessary." Mary stepped forward but Caroline continued her rant, turning to the Duke.

"Did my brother even _know_ you were keeping someone locked in the root cellar?" Her bitterness seeped through her careless words. "Did you _deign_ to tell him?"

To be fair, His Grace did look slightly abashed. Not enough that most would notice but enough that Elizabeth could.

"Caroline." Mr. Bingley started quietly but firmly. "It should be enough that I trust him. This is my home and my guests may do as they see fit." He looked to his friend. "Most especially _him._ "

"Ugggnghh" Caroline let out an incoherent string of frustrated consonants. "He brought a bloodied man here and kept him in the root cellar!" She pointed to the Duke in accusation. "He compromised a-a _person"_ Elizabeth wanted to take exception to that particular statement but Caroline continued. "in the middle of a _country assembly_ , no less!" She looked back to her brother. "Look at this house! You have three - THREE! - unmarried _ladies_ " she scoffed out the word. "Secreting about with clear nefarious intent. Did you expect _me_ to trust him?"

"I am engaged!" Jane shouted happily and too loudly for the confined space. Elizabeth was not even remotely surprised. "And, I take offense to nearly everything you just said. My sisters are _not_ nefarious?" The last was a forceful statement she clearly began to doubt midway through her sentence. "Well, Lizzie might seem a little nefarious. But only because she has to be! Don't make her feel bad for it!" Elizabeth cringed and Richard stroked Jane with one hand, showing off his strength and distracting her lovely mess of an elder sister.

"Lady Bedford." The Duke spread his hands out flat on the table and leaned forward, still maintaining a calm, measured tone,even in the face of the ridiculousness. "Regardless of my supposed transgressions, why would you trust a newcomer, a complete unknown over someone you have known for nearly twenty years? Because it _was_ the Duc, was it not?"

Caroline swallowed thick, her long neck trembling as she completed the action. She nodded weakly, barely perceptibly, but it was enough.

Elizabeth was shocked, she had seen quite a few misguided betrayals in her life but nothing so damaging. What would they do now? Wickham was their lead! She immediately began formulating a plan to possibly capture General MacDonald but even while doing so knew it would be futile.

Darcy had been staring menacingly at Lady Bedford. He was breathing heavy and had lost the guise of disinterested nobility. Instead of shouting at the now cowering Lady, Darcy addressed Bingley and Mary.

"You said you found blood?" His teeth were tightly clenched but he maintained an even voice.

Mr. Bingley was openly gaping at his sister, coming to grips with the consequences of her actions, it seemed, so Mary stepped forward.

"Yes, Your Grace, if you will follow me, I can show you where."

Darcy stood abruptly, still glowering at Lady Bedford. "Do not leave this house." He growled at the Lady and held his hand out for Elizabeth.

"Thank you, Miss Mary." He finally turned from Lady Bedford to nod his thanks at Mary before looking down at Elizabeth, worry written all over his handsome face. It struck Elizabeth rather forcefully the full extent of the situation.

This was her future _husband_ and he needed her.

"Well, shall we all go for a walk then?" She smiled into the worried eyes of her Duke and felt his body relax, leaning slightly into her again and she knew all would be well.

/

Darcy felt his entire body drain of its stress as Elizabeth smiled up at him.

"Yes, Miss Elizabeth, let us walk." He looked over to his cousin, still cradling a lightly giggling, obviously drunken Miss Bennet. "You should get her some tea, Richard, she will need it." His cousin only nodded, looking drunken himself. "And congratulations, Old Man." Richard's drunken grin took on a brightness Darcy had never seen in the man. Not even before the war.

How was it possible they were both so happy amidst such utter chaos?

The group made their way down the front steps, each lost in thought, the only noise the sound of the birds as they cried around them.

Miss Mary and Charles led the way, each with a kick to their step. They both seemed so happy to have been a part of all of this. Darcy couldn't help but regret his having waited to inform Charles of the circumstances surrounding his arrival until just the night prior. He should have trusted his friend. Charles may be flighty at times, and far too jovial for his own good, but he was honorable to a fault. Darcy should absolutely have trusted him.

A frown formed unbidden as he began to wonder about that idiot Wickham.

The man was a snake, a predator and a poor excuse for a gentleman but, Darcy wasn't certain he could stomach being responsible for his untimely demise. He would not necessarily be opposed to seeing him deported, or even remanded to gaol, but, murder?

Elizabeth moved closer to him and he felt her arm brush the full length of his. Tingles erupted all over his scalp and a shudder travelled down his spine as his maudlin thoughts fled his mind. He would never tire of his reaction to her.

"Thank you." He mouthed, not wanting to verbalize his gratitude to the rest of the group. This was for them.

They held eye contact for an intense breath before nearly walking directly into Miss Mary and Charles who had stopped suddenly.

"Here!" Charles pointed to a branch of a spindly bush, splashed with a bright red, very nearly blending in with the deep red of the plants fall coat.

Darcy and Elizabeth both moved forward quickly to examine the blood, their eyes intense, contemplative faces mirrored between one another.

Elizabeth was first to spot the second blotting of blood, this time a small puddle on the ground just down the slightly overgrown path from the bush.

"It is a trail." She trained her gaze on Darcy. "Should we follow?"

Indecision battled within Darcy. Any sort of path could easily be a trap.

"Let's!" Charles clapped happily, annoying Darcy slightly by still thinking of this as some sort of game. "Miss Mary." Charles held his hand out for the third Bennet sister and they began picking their way down the trail.

"Well, I suppose we shall." Elizabeth smiled up at him, the sun gleaming off her unruly curls. He pulled her close to him.

"Do not leave my side, Elizabeth." He tried for a stern voice but how was that possible with this fierce little woman smiling up at him?

"Yes, Your Grace." Her smile turned mischievous. "I don't want you where I can't protect you."

Darcy groaned but smiled wide.

They would just have to protect each other, he supposed.

/

If Caroline had been angry before, with the Duke and his heavy handed dealings in _her_ home, she was absolutely furious now. Not only had she been embarrassed in front of her little brother, but she was in the hated position of doubted her own actions. Had she just hurt someone by proxy? Was she responsible if the blood _did_ belong to Wickham?

Her pretty features were scrunched up in an ugly expression, perfectly mirroring her feelings.

She schooled her features quickly brushing aside the niggling self doubt. As she rose, she adjusted her hat, which had drooped slightly to the left side of her head. The side with the bird always dipped on her. She debated having a second bird added to the right side, balancing the piece perfectly.

Maybe a peacock?! She nearly clapped in excitement before her smile fell.

No. A peacock would be too large.

Perhaps a songbird? Lord knows they had awoken her enough times with their incessant chirping, revenge would feel rather sweet. The imagery would fit perfectly as well. She _did_ have a beautiful voice.

It was decided. She nodded her head to herself, finalizing her decision and unbalancing her hat yet again.

She lifted her graceful hands to right it yet again, only to strike something, or rather _someone_ with her elbow.

"Aie! Cette femme blessée et stupide." Caroline turned to see a man standing next to her, dressed as a footman.

"What do you think you are doing?!" She screeched, her flux emotions going wild in a minute. She caught movement out of the corner of her eye and another man entered the room, not dressed as a footman, but not dressed as a gentleman either.

Both men ignored her. "Est-ce la bonne femme? Je ne veux pas me tromper."

Caroline began to panic. "No! No, I am _**not**_ the right lady! Um, er." She began fumbling for her French. "Er, Je ne suis… uh, pas celui que tu veux!" She shouted the rest triumphantly, happy she could conjure anything but panic in that moment.

God, but she was a perfect Lady.

Her triumph lasted only a moment. The men began talking to each other in a more animated fashion and she could only catch a few words. She heard "bird" a few times and "hat", she was sure she heard something close to "she was supposed to be ugly" but they were clearly not speaking to her.

" **Alright, enough**!" She shouted. "You will **both** leave this - aghng" The rest was muffled as the man dressed as a footman covered her mouth with his grimy hand, the other man moving forward, opening a bottle. He plugged her nose and poured a bitter liquid down her throat.

" _Laudanum."_ Was Caroline's last thought before all went black.

She would awaken far from home and even farther from safety.

/


	13. Chapter 12

The stroll had been pleasant, all things considered. The day was burgeoning bright and beautiful and the songbirds were out en force that morning, bringing on the day with a melody.

Elizabeth felt the sharp pang of guilt stab her as she remember they had not just been out for a morning stroll. They were out looking for Mr. Wickham.

They had followed the trail of bloodied leaves and small puddles thoroughly but to no avail. The trail curved somewhere in the middle of the wooded area surrounding the home and they were now following it back towards Netherfield.

"Perhaps he escaped but came back for help?" Elizabeth asked the Duke, still walking close beside her, but lost in the search.

He looked intently at a spot on a leaf before answering her. "Perhaps. But, why would he have run in this direction? The road is that way" he pointed off to the left. "The only thing in this direction is more trees." He looked again to the spot on the leaf he had just examined. "The trail does not seem to make sense." He rubbed the leaf and looked towards the house. "There are small spots here, puddles here." He pointed to each. "He would need to be stopping and starting constantly for the blood to pool there but splatter here, it just doesn't -" he stopped mid thought as they heard the sounds of a carriage riding away from Netherfield. They turned to each other, wide eyed before they both began sprinting towards the house.

Elizabeth turned to shout for Mary to follow, bringing Mr. Bingley with her, and by the time she turned back around the Duke had sped far ahead of her. She buckled down, lifting her skirts high as she ran in earnest, her walkers legs burning as she pushed harder.

Something was very very wrong.

She breached the tree line and the Duke had stopped to wait for her.

"You - you… weren't… behind me." He was breathing heavily and the words were forced out with each exhale.

"No… but go on." She was breathing just as heavy. Running was most certainly not a pastime of which ladies usually indulged .

"No."

"What?" If her face weren't exhausted, she would have had scrunched it in a confused manner.

"No."

"I'm sorry, I don't quite understand." She managed to at least bring her eyebrows together.

"I am not leaving you to walk back alone." Despite his still heavy breath, he was able to move his face far more than Elizabeth.

Her eyebrows finally knit in confusion. She could handle herself just fine, why did he- ...Ahh. They had just been following a trail of blood in these very woods.

She looked back to ascertain Mary was alright.

"She will be fine, Elizabeth." Her Duke answered her thoughts. "He may not look it but Charles has the best left hook this side of London." He nodded to her as a notification then grabbed her hand and they took off running, together this time.

Her bonnet had flown back, the ribbons choking her neck, as soon as she started her sprint through the woods. Feeling freedom keenly, her hair had come loose of half its pins, the unruly curls trailing down her back, bouncing as she ran. By the time they reached the front steps, most of the pins had fled her ungrateful hair and chose the life woodland hair accoutrements instead.

Darcy and Elizabeth were both breathing heavily as they removed their outerwear, the butler having a difficult time keeping his eyes from Elizabeth's full head of tangled hair, attempting its best impression of a birds nest.

Darcy cleared his throat, pulling the butlers astonished eyes from Elizabeth.

"Can you tell me where we might find the Major General and Miss Bennet?" He kept his tone formal but Elizabeth nearly rolled her eyes as the butlers' eyes bulged when he looked at her head. Clearly, neither of them understood running with waist length, unfettered hair.

"I- Yes, Your Grace." The butler tore his horrified eyes from Elizabeth to look at him. "They took tea together in the, um, Egyptian room." His eyes darted to her head again and she wanted to scream.

"Thank you." She raised her chin and nodded in a nearly exaggerated, imperious fashion before pulling her Duke towards the hideous room in question.

She felt a pull on her head and she turned to see the Duke holding strands of her hair, examining it as they walked.

"Yes, it is a disheveled, I know. Running is not-"

"It is beautiful, Elizabeth." He cut off her protestation.

Her throat had gone dry and she had to swallow hard to push through. "Well." A slow smile spread across her face. "Thank you, Your Grace."

They stood in the hall smiling stupidly before they simultaneously remembered their urgent task with a startle.

They pushed open the double doors to the Egyptian room to a scene neither of them could have contemplated.

In the middle of the floor, on top of a large blanket, placed on top of an even larger rug, were the Major General and Jane. Their tea serving was scattered around them and the Major General had his head in her lap, staring up at her with puppy dog eyes while she sipped her tea and told him a story.

Neither of them batted an eye when they were caught in such a compromising position.

To be entirely fair, neither did Elizabeth or Darcy.

"Did you hear a carriage leave here?" Darcy questioned.

The Major General did, eventually, sit up from his very comfortable perch. "No." He looked to Jane. "Did you?"

She blinked slowly and smiled wide, entirely unconcerned by the question. "No, I believe there was a noise in the breakfast room but it sounded very much like something was dropped." She brushed an unnoticeable speck of dirt from the Major Generals jacket before looking back up at Darcy and Elizabeth.

"Who was in the breakfast room?" Elizabeth turned to Darcy, who had seemingly frozen in place, his worried look sent her mind reeling quickly.

"Lady Bedford." The blood drained from her face as she was now being pulled by the Duke towards the room in question.

They opened the door slowly, peering in cautiously. But, they needn't have bothered.

Sitting in the middle of the room, damaged beyond repair and surrounded by mismatched feathers, was a stuffed pheasant.

Lady Bedford had vanished.

/

 **CHAPTER 11**

 **Longbourn**

 **Hertfodshire, England**

Elizabeth awoke to the unfamiliar feeling of deep familiarity. Her childhood bed still as lumpy as she remembered and her room still as bone chilling cold as ever. She furrowed in deeper under her covers, shivering slightly. As she pulled her covers closer, she felt an odd resistance, like the her blanket was stuck on the corner of her bed… or, shockingly, on a certain brown haired younger sister.

"Lydia?" She questioned gently. Even in her own morning stupor she knew not to wake her sister too quickly. She did not need a bloodied nose before seven in the morning.

The only answer she received was a light snoring.

"Lydiaaaa" She called still quietly but slightly louder, to which she received a very unladylike snort.

"Oh for heaven's sake... **LYDIA!"** She coupled her louder voice with a jostling movement before quickly covering her face.

She should have thought to cover her midsection as her sister's petite, bony elbow landed square on her unprotected belly button.

"Unghhh" She doubled over, luckily catching Lydia's leg with her own as she went in for a follow up kick to the shins. "Lydia! Stop!" She had to grunt the words through the pain of her stomach. All her sister's were deceptively strong.

"Lizzie?" A groggy voice next to her questioned sweetly. "What is wrong?" She turned to her other side to see Jane blinking her eyes open, looking fully rested and annoyingly perfect after sleeping all night through.

"What are you all doing in here?!" Elizabeth knew for a fact she had fallen asleep on her own. Both Mary and Jane reluctantly agreed they could not stay at Netherfield without Lady Bedford as a chaperone. Not with the recent… _goings on_ romantically.

"We all wanted to discuss things with you, Lizzie but you were very much asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow." A bright eyed Mary told her, in her usual matter of fact tone.

"Mary?! How did you sleep down there?!" Mary was curled in a ball at the end of the bed, covered in her own quilt.

"Oh, do be quiet." A groggy Lydia snapped. "It is far too early for so many _questions._ "

Elizabeth sat up fully, her bewilderment slowly giving way to amusement. "You all decided to sleep in my bed so you could question me?"

"Of course." Mary had moved from her balled up repose to standing in a quietly stern manner before the bed. "It is the best way to carry on a discussion without our parents or the servants hearing." She smiled a small, uncharacteristically mischievous smile. "And, besides, if someone were to attempt to make off with you in the night they would need to go through all of us." She nodded to Lydia now covered with her own pillow. "I doubt greatly anyone could get through Lydia."

"So much noise!" The muffled yell came from under the pillow and Mary just raised her eyebrows in triumph.

The pillow covering the little monster was forcefully thrown at Mary who plucked it from the air and placed it calmly on the end of the bed.

"What is wrong with all of you?!" Lydia sat up, her hair as wild as Elizabeths, and a faint white line leading from the corner of her mouth down her cheek, and disappearing under her chin. "Why are you awake at such an ungodly hour?!" She rubbed her eyes and blinked comically. Elizabeth couldn't help but giggle.

"It is not funny-" Lydia turned to Elizabeth but stopped. "What are you all doing here? Get out."

Elizabeth's giggle morphed quickly into a full belly laugh, effectively erasing the ache she still felt in her stomach.

Lydia looked around the room in the exaggerated fashion of someone not fully awake but trying to understand something important. "Why am I in your room, Lizzie?" She tilted her head to the side, and knit her eyebrows in puzzlement before yawning loudly and stretching her arms.

Jane, helpful as ever, leaned forward to look past Elizabeth. "You said you needed to speak with Lizzie and when you couldn't wake her, you got in bed vowing to wake with the sun to ask her something very important."

Lydia looked puzzled for a moment longer before understanding hit her. She jumped out of bed and pulled back the curtains, smiling wide. "I did it! The sun isn't up fully!" She turned to the room, looking as though she had just accomplished the impossible.

"No, the sun is not fully risen but we must get ready quickly." Mary passed out robes to her three sisters and waited patiently for them to don them and get out of bed. "Mr. Bingley will be arriving soon-" She stopped suddenly. "With the Duke and the Major General, of course." She swallowed. "We are leaving, there is much to accomplish." She began making a shoo-ing motion with her hands. "Come, Jane, we will take turns speaking to Lizzie while we pack. I will help you first." Mary grabbed Jane by the hand and pulled her from the room, both women smiling and clearly giddy.

They were leaving.

Yes. Of course. To London.

 _Lady Bedford._

"Lydia, Mary is right, I must pack and dress quickly, the Duke will be here very soon." Elizabeth rose from the bed and tightened her robe. Lydia was still staring out the window, the triumph on her face gone, replaced with one of anxiety.

"Lizzie?" She whispered, the quiet tone of her usually loud voice had the effect of any other person shouting as Elizabeth turned from her dresser quickly.

"Lydia, what is the matter?" Elizabeth advanced on her sister, who would now not make eye contact.

"Lizzie, I-" She exhaled. "I know… I know none of you… _like_ me very well." Elizabeth's heart broke when she heard a sniffle.

"Lydia, no." Lydia held up a hand firmly to stop Elizabeth.

"Wait, let me finish. I - I know you don't and, honestly, I can't blame you… any of you. I have not been the best of sisters. It was nice feeling like the favorite… feeling special somehow. I know, at least I _think_ I know, that I allowed myself to do and say things I thought Mama would like and I just… I don't know." She looked up at Lizzie, fear and unshed tears in her eyes. "Take me with you, Lizzie." She darted forward and squeezed her sister's hands in her plea. "Please. I don't like who I am here. I am better than this, I can _feel_ it." She placed her hands over her chest in emphasis. "I will help you, I will do whatever you need, anything" Her desperation made her words come quickly. "Please. I will act as your maid, I will act as anything you want me to be, just please-"

Elizabeth pulled her sister in for a hug.

"Lydia, I was not planning to leave you behind."

Lydia pulled back from her quickly and searched her eyes. "You weren't? Because I would have never looked back if I had an escape."

Elizabeth laughed at this. "Well, then, you're lucky I am able to do as I please."

Lydia's face transformed into a beaming smile. The power and happiness behind it blinding in its intensity.

"I won't let you down, Lizzie, you have my word, I will do whatever you need, even if I _really_ do not want to, I will do it." She stopped and looked at Elizabeth seriously. "You're really going to take me?"

Elizabeth nodded and Lydia jumped on her with a squeal, nearly taking them both to the floor. "Thank you thank you thank you!" she squeezed Elizabeth tight before releasing her. "OH!" She looked panicked again. "I have _so_ much to pack!"

She turned towards the door and Elizabeth smiled wide, happiness flooding her chest. Lydia stopped at the door and turned back to her. "You won't regret this, Lizzie. Thank you for giving me a chance." Lydia ducked through the doorway, yelling for Sarah immediately.

Lizzie shook her head and chuckled.

Her sister's truly were insane.

She smiled to herself and turned yet again to attempt packing. They were to meet with some of His Grace's contacts in London before formulating their next plan. Operating under the assumption that the Duc had taken Wickham because of the idiot man's connection to Darcys father, they believed they would end up in Europe, gong with their first plan to intercept General MacDonald.

They were also operating under the assumption Lady Bedford had been taken accidentally, having been mistaken for Elizabeth herself. Elizabeth swallowed down the bile that had risen in her throat.

Regardless of Lady Bedford's rather… odd personality the lady did not deserve to be harmed for her mistakes.

Both His Grace and Elizabeth were so used to doing things on their own, without needing to, or honestly _wanting_ to, consult with anyone else the idea that their actions could so upset someone hadn't even crossed their minds. Elizabeth had certainly never considered it.

The guilt threatened to paralyze her. She replayed images over and over of what _could_ be happening to the Lady and she had to sit before she fully made herself sick.

A tapping on the window startled her immensely. Between the sick feeling in her stomach and her heart flipping over in her chest, she nearly vomited.

The Duke seemed to have quite a fright as well. He had been looking in the window searchingly and when he saw her, nearly lost his balance and fell backwards.

Elizabeth rushed to the window and pushed it open quickly, again nearly unbalancing the man.

"Aaagh." He yelled as he nearly fell back. Elizabeth grabbed his hand and pulled him back upright.

"What are you doing here?!" She whisper yelled the question for the second time this morning.

"Good morning to you as well, Miss Elizabeth." His charming smile both infuriated her further and made her want to swoon.

"What. are. you. Doing?" She made sure to space her words out so he understood her anger.

"May I at least come in?"

"No! No, you may not come in my bedroom, Your Grace. Get down this instant!" He looked down and cringed as he did so.

"I'm afraid I will have to come in the room, Miss Elizabeth, I don't believe I _can_ get down." He hurled himself from his precarious perch into the room, nearly knocking her down.

She rolled her eyes and moved to shut her window. As she did so, she spied the Major General clamoring into Jane's room next door. She rolled her eyes again.

Once he was inside, she could see Mr. Bingley hanging on to the window ledge outside Mary's room.

She heard a desperate "Miss Mary, please!" before she saw Mary pry his hands from the window ledge and let him fall to the ground with a 'thump'.

"Are you well, Mr. Bingley?" Mary called down to him as he lay stunned in the soft grass. He raised his hand weakly. "I'm sorry but you know you can not come in. I'll make sure to ask Hill for some willow bark tea!" She called down before slamming the window shut.

Well, at least one of her sisters had a sense of propriety.

She turned to the Duke, who was nosily perusing her room. "What are you doing here, Your Grace? I have half a mind to throw you from this window like my sister Mary."

He chuckled "I told Charles not to try it." Before he picked up her bottle of lavender water and inhaled deeply. "Ahhh, I do love this scent on you, Elizabeth."

She couldn't help her slight blush but she was still angry.

" . ?" her teeth were clenched tight, both fighting back a smile and from genuine annoyance.

He put the bottle down quickly. "I needed to see you before I spoke to your father."

"Why do you need to speak to my father?"

"We need to marry soon, Elizabeth. And there is the matter of the-" he cleared his throat. "Assembly. I should have been here yesterday to speak with him."

She stared at him, fairly certain her mouth was wide open.

Right. She was engaged to a Duke.

She swallowed, closing her mouth to do so. "Yes. We will marry soon. I- Are you sure _you're_ sure you want to marry me? I'm not much for titles, I will be perfectly honest with you, it's rather your least attractive quality."

"My least attractive quality?" He tilted his head and advanced on her. "Would you care to enumerate my _most_ attractive qualities?"

She couldn't help but smile at the infuriating man. "Not particularly, no."

He shrugged but did not move from his close proximity. "Perhaps another time." He stared at her for a long moment before seeming to remember himself. "Why aren't you dressed Elizabeth, you're hardly appropriate in that." He motioned at her accusingly.

She spurted a laugh.

"And your hair. How is it possible to become so tangled? I suppose this is what I will awaken to for the rest of my life?" He seemed to truly have meant the words as a joke but the hinting of intimacy made them both stop and blush furiously. She wasn't sure she had ever seen a man turn so red and if the burning in her entire face were any indicator she was not far off.

"I'm afraid so, Your Grace." She smiled and tried to diffuse the palpable tension. She pushed him on the shoulder teasingly. "Perhaps you will get very good at brushing."

If anything, that only seemed to make his eyes grow darker and his breathing more rapid. He quickly sat down on her sette and crossed his ankle over his knee.

"Yes. Well." He cleared his throat as the words came out raspy. "We will just figure all of that out… at a later date." He looked away and closed his eyes and Elizabeth smiled. She was quite certain he was as attracted to her as she was to him. _That_ was a rather unexpected revelation.

She moved to sit next to him but kept her distance. She _was_ still wearing only her dressing gown.

"What did you need to say to me so urgently you had to climb in my window?"

He smiled and turned slightly to face her. "I will need to speak with your father and I need to know how to do so while ensuring the best chances of success. I will be speaking to him and then taking you away immediately, it is rather important that both Richard and I be given his blessing."

Huh. Elizabeth hadn't even considered he would ask her father for permission.

"Both Jane and I are of age, you truly neednt' bother." The thought of the Duke meeting her father in the state he was currently in made her cringe. She knew her father was better than the man he was at this moment in time. She knew he was wallowing in self pity, allowing himself to remain unkempt and angry at all times. "And, besides, you are a Duke, I can't imagine any father would decline his permission."

"Well, if he's anything like you, it is apparently my least attractive quality."

"Yes, whatever will we do with you?"

He smiled tenderly and picked up her hand. "I have laughed more since meeting you than I can remember in my lifetime." He began absently rubbing circles onto the back of her hand. "Are _you_ certain you want to marry me?"

"You're playing unfair, Your Grace." He began massaging her palm and the stress seemed to flee her entire being.

"I'm only counteracting my least attractive qualities, Miss Elizabeth."

"Yes, Your Grace. I am sure I want to marry you." She could tell he wanted her to expound upon her words but she was not about to do so. "Be yourself and Papa will have no choice but to give his consent." She smiled at his dramatic eye roll. "Now, do get out. I still need to pack and untangle my hair."

He laughed and stood, offering his hand to help her rise.

She did so daintily then pushed him back towards the window.

"What are you doing Elizabeth? I am not going back out there."

"Oh, yes, you most certainly are, _Your Grace_. If my mother sees you in here you will never hear the end of it and neither will the rest of Meryton."

The poor man paled, his terror visible.

"Are you afraid of heights?"

"Yes. Absolutely." He nodded emphatically.

"Then why did you climb up here?!" She threw her hands in the air. This man was impossible.

"Like I said, I needed to speak with you... And, Richard insulted my honor. It is far simpler to do idiotic things when one is incensed, Elizabeth." He imparted that knowledge as though it were the perfect carte blanche.

"Lizzie! Oh, my dear Lizzie! Are you truly taking Lydia with you?!" Her mother was screeching from down the hall and her footsteps were very loudly heading towards her bedroom.

Oh no. She would absolutely not allow her reputation to be further sullied by her mothers incessant need to gossip. Even about her own daughters.

She turned to the absolutely terrified Duke and pulled him close to her, kissing him hard and with dizzying abandon. She broke the kiss and confirmed the man was rather dazed before shoving him out the window.

"I will see you soon." She whispered to him. "Now, climb!" He followed her instructions, not seeming to realize his position relative to the ground. She looked down to see Mr. Bingley waiting patiently, sitting on a rock near the wall. The poor man should have known better than to test Mary's proprietary boundaries. She looked around quickly but didn't have time to locate the Major General. She would need to speak to Jane about her actions with that gentleman later.

She spun around quickly just as her mother opened her door.

"Oh, I do hope you will put Lydia in the way of other rich men, Lizzie, you have done so well for us all." She clapped her hands together happily. "But, why aren't you dressed?! Our Duke should be here any moment! Oh, Lizzie how unlike you to be such a layabout!"

Elizabeth sighed loudly. The madness was beginning even before she had broken her fast.

/

Darcy looked up to the now shut window of Elizabeth's room, missing the space already. He had thoroughly enjoyed seeing the room of her youth, particularly her perfect curation of knickknacks and books.

He put his hands to his lips, still dazed by what he could now see as her ploy to get him over his fear of heights and out of her room.

He was quite certain he could climb to the roof and down if she would use _that_ particular method of encouragement.

He found Charles sitting in uncharacteristic contemplation, chin in his hand, elbow on his knee, perched upon a large rock near the wall of the home.

Guilt smacked Darcy in the face, erasing the happiness Elizabeth's lips had brought him and bringing back the consequences of his actions.

"Charles, we will find her. We will leave soon and not rest until she is found."

He startled, nearly toppling over in the process.

"What? Oh, yes yes. Of course we will find her, Darcy, I am not entirely worried over Caroline. You do not know her like I do." He shook his head and chuckled slightly. "She might be a bit of a shrew but she is the strongest woman I have ever known. I doubt she will need much by the way of rescuing."

Darcy smiled politely and nodded, not wanting to contradict his friends optimism.

"No. I was actually thinking of another strong woman. Miss Mary has agreed to a courtship with me." He smiled up to his friend.

"A courtship? But I had thought you were planning to plea your troth? What changed your mind?"

"Miss Mary changed it for me, I'm afraid. She rejected my offer of marriage." He sighed dramatically. "She said it was too soon, and something about not being her sisters or somesuch. Then she threw me out of the window." He scrunched up his face. "That bloody well hurt, you know." He rubbed his backside. "She slammed her window on me but opened it up after a moment and said she would agree to a courtship." He smiled happily now. "I am absolutely going to marry that woman, Darcy. I have never been so sure of anything in my life."

Darcy chuckled happily. "Then we will be brothers, Charles, and I look forward to it."

Their moment was broken by Richard strolling from around the front of the home, carrying what looked suspiciously like a breakfast roll.

"Richard, what the bloody hell is in your hand?" Darcy was suddenly very angry at that roll.

"What?" He asked innocently. "Did neither of you have any? They're delicious. Ja- er, Miss Bennet said their housekeeper makes them herself every morning."

"How did you get out through the house?"

"I walked, Darcy, how did you get down? You didn't climb down did you? The trellis is not very stable."

Darcy's mouth hung open for a moment before he slapped the roll from his cousin's hand and started for the front of the home.

"Well, that was uncalled for." Richard declared to his back before scrambling himself to catch up. The three men all needed permission to whisk three of his daughters away.

They would need far more than breakfast rolls to get through this interview.

/

Sir Bennet was not exactly excited to see three men before him. No one would have been particularly welcome this early in the morning but especially three well dressed, perfectly hale men beaming with happiness. He had the nearly debilitating urge to slap their happy grins from their faces.

He could still do so just not very effectively. His balance was not what it once was, he doubted he could muster up enough force to do any sort of lasting damage.

He clinched and unclinched his right hand and could _feel_ the movement mirrored in his other hand but knew it to be impossible. His left arm was now a shriveled stump of an appendage. The scar tissue surrounding the end, marled and unsightly. His own wife cringed when she saw it so he kept to himself, kept his horror of a body well hidden from anyone, despising the horror and pity he would inevitably see in their eyes.

He didn't need their pity and he most certainly did not care for their hurt sensibilities.

He rubbed his chin with his good hand, his fingers tickled by his scratchy, overgrown beard. He had no issue making the men before him wait, the red head squirming slightly while the Duke and the Major General stood stoically, unmoved. Had he cared more he might see how long it would take for them to crack. But he didn't. He needed to get this over with and get back to his studies.

His studies were all he had left anymore.

"Your Grace, I had expected you yesterday. Maybe even the night of your, rather spectacular, compromise of my daughter. Should I be glad you have deigned to appear before me now?" His tone was disinterested but he _was_ a little bit curious as to the character of the man marrying his favorite daughter.

She probably hated him now, and for good reason, but he still thought highly of her.

His Grace had the good grace to look abashed but he did not back down.

"I am here now, Sir Bennet, and I would very much like to assure you of my intention of marrying your daughter. Tomorrow, actually. We will marry in London before setting off on a… wedding trip… of sorts. When we return, we would like to have the wedding breakfast here. Or at Pemberley if you would prefer. I am sure she would like to have you there, you and Lady Bennet are welcome in my London home."

"Is my daughter with child, Your Grace?"

"What?!" That at least got a reaction from the Duke. He quickly recovered, however. "No. She is not with child. I - we have not." His Grace took a deep breath. "The only compromise to have occurred did so in front of the crowd at the assembly, Sir." Sir Bennet doubted the accuracy of that statement but he moved past it.

"The assembly where you were pretending to be a tradesman? With this cousin of yours?" He nodded towards the Major General, whose face was reddened but remained otherwise stoic

"Yes." The Duke had regained his control quickly. Good.

"Would you care to elaborate or is this a normal occurrence?"

"Our reasons were both well intentioned and our own, Sir. I would hope that the word of a gentleman would suffice."

He moved his incomplete translation work to the other side of his desk, tiring of the interview already. It was rather dull to goad a man with such a grasp on his emotions.

"Yes. Alright. You may marry my daughter. Lady Bennet and I will not be traveling to London, I doubt we will be much missed." The Major General started to speak as well but Sir Bennet had already finished with this nonsense. "You as well. Jane will be an excellent wife to you." He looked to the clearly shocked red headed man, Mr. Bingles or something. "If you can convince Mary to marry you then you'll have proven yourself to my satisfaction." He took a deep breath, thankful this draining tete a tete was nearly over. He had never been one for socializing, and even less so in his current state.

Mr. Bingles bowed immediately and with obvious relief. "Thank you, Sir, I will do so, I am sure."

Both the Major General and the Duke glared at him. If he still had any sort of conscience or cared in even the slightest way he would have been ashamed of his own clear indifference.

As it was, he wasn't.

"You may leave gentlemen." He looked down to his beloved studies, ignoring that none of the three men bowed or took their leave.

No matter.

He had work to be done. Aeschylus did not care if he was a cripple.

\\\\\\\\\

A/N: The beginning to this should have been the end of the last post, clearly I copy and pasted with reckless abandon last week.

Originally I had planned for this to be the wedding chapter and this entire drama at Longbourn was going to be max maybe 1000 words or so but it felt cheap and they ended up having so much fun so it sort of ran away with itself to the tune of around 5000 words. Such is life.

Thanks for reading!


	14. Chapter 13

**A Rather Non Descript Carriage**

 **Somewhere, Maybe England?**

Caroline woke with a start. Not so much a "start" perhaps, as the terrifying feeling of slow suffocation. The gag on her mouth made it so she had to breath through her nose, a true nightmare for the permanently stuffy lady. Her too small, too irritated nasal passages were going to be the death of her if she could not get the gag off soon.

She forced herself to calm, the knowledge that she was hastening her demise by speeding her breathing somehow making itself known in the midst of her panic. The darkness that surrounded her was thick and unyielding, not a shred of light could be found.

She rolled slightly to the side, her arms aching in their position, tied tightly behind her back, and she pushed them as far as she could away from her body to keep her stable in her new position. The pain shooting across her shoulder blades somehow made it easier to concentrate.

Get the gag off.

That's all she had to do right now.

She began rubbing her face along the scratchy surface of her current prison. She could tell she was lying on the scratchy, hard seat of a well used carriage and briefly debated rolling onto the floor to look for weapons before coming back to the most pressing necessity.

Focus.

Breathe.

She rubbed harder. The seat was not as plush as her husbands carriage. Certainly nowhere near as plush as a Darcy carriage. And, for the first time in her life, she was thankful. The hard surface allowed for more traction against the gag, rolling it down her face and onto her chin.

She took a deep breath, coughing as her irritated lungs took in more air than necessary. She would take coughing any day over suffocating.

She laid on the seat, breathing the stale air greedily until her heart beat slowed and she could hear something other than the pounding of blood flowing through her head.

A rustling sound accompanied by heavy nasal breathing, accentuated by an odd whistling sound came from the general direction of the other seat in the carriage. She squinted in the darkness, barely making out the shape of what looked to be another person.

"Who's there?" She croaked, her voice unused and her throat dry.

She was answered by a muffled, but fervent, yelling. The sounds changing just enough to denote different words but unintelligible.

"You must calm so you may remove your gag." She demanded. A scratchy voice and sore throat could not stop Caroline from asserting her authority. The rustling of the struggle stilled.

She nodded before realizing she was unseen. "Good. Now you must run your face along the cushion, try moving your mouth to loosen the binding."

The sound of friction being created, the rub of fabric and skin against one another followed and she listened intently, riveted to the small sounds.

She heard a still muffled moan and it only served to raise her ire.

"Do it." She hissed. "I will not share a carriage with a corpse. I did it, there is no reason you can not follow. Keep on."

The rubbing sound started again, faster and harder than before.

She nodded to the darkness, pleased her fellow captive would not fail their first real test, only to frown disapprovingly when the rubbing sound stopped.

"Keep on." She urged. "We are forced to work together, clearly the Duc has double crossed me." She rolled her eyes to herself. She truly had known better. "Mr. Wickham, if that is you, I need you to try harder. Now. I believe your nose was broken, you will need to get the gag… oh, hell." Those who knew Caroline well knew she had a foul mouth when it matched to a foul mood. She pulled her knees forward and tried to push herself up with her shoulder only to wince at the pain and lay back down briefly. She took a deep breath and gritted her teeth before jerking her shoulder hard, she was prepared for the pain so she could push through it this time and propel herself up into a sitting position. She looked over the huddled shadow across from her as well as she could. It was night and if they were traveling by lantern light, they hid it well.

She propelled herself forward by rocking backwards only to half way stand before her knees gave out and her lack of forward momentum made her drop back down to the seat.

She grit her teeth again. "You are far more trouble than you are worth, Mr. Wickham." She closed her eyes, hoping for some sort of muffled response. Hearing nothing, she felt a stab of guilt in her stomach. He was here because of her and her idiotic actions. If he died it would be because of her.

Her nostrils flared wide and her breath was fierce. Lady Bedford leaned back far, crumpling her tied hands and rushed forward, standing even though her knees had no desire to hold her up. She willed herself steady and turned just enough to fall (gracefully, still, she was a _Lady_ after all.) to the opposite seat with a loud "umph." She had sat on one of Mr. Wickhams limbs, from the width she assumed it to be his leg, so she scooted forward arms achingly out stretched behind her while her fingers searched for the offending material. When she reached his face, she hooked her small finger in the damp gag and pulled it down, over his lips and down his chin. It rolled into a thin strip and stayed around his chin, stuck. No matter, though, it was off his mouth and he could breathe fully.

Well, he _should_ be breathing fully.

Her momentary relief was shattered in a flash. She turned to look at him only to be thwarted by darkness. She turned back again quickly, allowing her fingers to crawl over his mouth. She scrunched her face in horror as her industrious little finger stuck in the still unconscious man's mouth. He _was_ breathing, but it was shallow. She pulled her finger from his mouth in frustration, only to smack against his nose in her uncoordinated retreat.

"Unggggghghhh". Mr. Wickham's moan ended with the whistling of air through his broken nose. "What was _that for?!_ Who's there?!"

Caroline rolled her eyes at the still annoying, but thankfully not dead, Mr. Wickham and moved back to her own seat, leaning forward heavily to keep her balance as she took a step.

"It is Lady Bedford, Mr. Wickham. Are you well?"

"No! No, I am not well! I have a _broken nose_ which you just hit."

"Honestly, Mr. Wickham, I could not possibly care so long as you do not plan to die anytime soon. I do believe I will need your assistance."

"Assistance with _what precisely,_ Lady Bedford?"

Lady Bedford rolled her eyes again, happy for the darkness concealing her unladylike facial expressions. "We are going to escape, Mr. Wickham. I mean, honestly."

She smiled at his silence. Obviously he was too stunned to respond.

No matter. Caroline was used to being underestimated.

It would only make success all the more sweet.

/

 **Darcy House**

 **London, England**

"Are you ready, Wife?" The gentle words and the soft knock pulled Elizabeth from her reverie.

Was she ready? She hadn't actually done anything since leaving the small wedding breakfast to prepare for a necessary outing. She had walked up the massive stairs of her massive new home in a daze and proceeded to stare at herself in the mirror, searching for some sort of physical manifestation of the massive changes in her life, perpetrated by uttering a single "I do".

Would she look more regal? Did becoming a Duchess somehow make her back straighter and her hair manageable? Did Duchesses suffer from the occasional spotting? Did they have days when they could hardly look in the mirror for fear of their own judgement of their appearance? Did they cry before their monthly cycles?

"Elizabeth?" Her husbands voice was still gentle but slightly worried. "Are you well?"

"Oh! Yes!" She blurted out, not realizing she had slipped back into her thoughts. She rushed to the door, fears forgotten for the moment. "I was just…" she opened the door and was nearly simultaneously swooped into the lanky but impossibly strong arms of her husband. A giggle escaped her lips before she turned to mock seriousness. "And what, pray tell, are you doing husband?"

"I believe it is rather obvious, Wife." His smile was wide and happy and ever so slightly mischievous.

"Not to me, I am afraid." He was walking towards the large couch situated before the fireplace.

"Clearly I am carrying my wife across the threshold."

"A threshold over which I have already successfully crossed."

"Yes, well, I was detained, wasn't I? I am nothing if not thorough."

"And why _were_ you locked in heated conversation with the Bishop?" He sat down on the couch, with Elizabeth firmly cradled still in his arms.

"He wanted to ensure I had not somehow coerced you into marriage." He wagged his eyebrows playfully.

Elizabeth snorted in a decidedly un-Duchesslike manner. " _After_ he officiated our wedding?"

"Yes, I believe he did not realize how wonderful you are until afterwards. He was completely determined I had somehow tricked you."

"Is your reputation so bad that having a _wonderful_ wife should be so out of your reach?"

"Perhaps not _bad_ , no." His smile faltered and lowered at the edges. "I have never - I am not able to recommend myself well to strangers. But, beyond that…" he trailed off but the defeat in his voice made her heart ache.

"You recommend yourself well with me."

His smile returned slightly. "I believe I have never talked so well or felt such ease with anyone." He stared in her eyes for a long time, his arms squeezing her nearly unconsciously and his jaw clenched. "Elizabeth, there is something I must tell you. I wanted to do so before we were married but… things have happened very quickly." He made a move to disentangle their limbs, ostensibly to remove her from his lap, but she stopped him with a hand to his chest.

"You have made a monster of me already" She laughed lightly "I'm afraid you will need to whisk me around everywhere and sit thus every night while I read." The sparkle in his eye told her he was in complete agreement. "Let us remain entangled while you tell me your secrets."

He stared at her, wonder written plain across his face. "I have no idea how I have gotten so lucky." He kissed her lightly on the nose before taking a deep breath.

"My sister is… not well received in _polite_ society." His contempt for the institution was clear in his tone. "She - where to start? - she changed a great deal after our father left. Our mother's death was hard for all of us but she was always our father's favorite. When he left, she - just _withdrew_ \- from everything - from me, though I was busy learning to run the estate - from her music - my sister used to play for hours on end and she, I mean, she just stopped." He shook his head sadly. "When she was 15 she wanted to go to Brighton for the summer." His sad demeanor grew angry in a flash. " _Wickham_ returned from the continent and met her there. He _coerced_ her into attempting an elopement." Elizabeth's hand flew to her mouth, anger flooding through her veins as well. "He swears he never touched her - and she - she defends him!" he took a defeated breath. "she came to be with child over a year later and will not disclose the name of the man who- who - well, no matter. She is raising her daughter - my niece - on her own. Very nearly in hiding after she was shunned fully by all in our acquaintance." He looked at her fearfully after he said the words, nearly wincing, waiting for her response.

"What is her name?"

"Hmm? Who?"

"Well, your sister is Lady Georgiana but, what is your nieces name?"

He smiled happily, unable to hid the joy in his expression. "If it was a boy Georgie threatened to name him Fitzwilliam- a fate I do not wish on anyone - as a way of thanking me for not sending her away." He shook his head. "But she went with Mary. She is 4 - are you upset by this at all, Elizabeth? I expected at least _some_ reaction."

"What were you imagining, _Fitzwilliam?_ " She smirked at the use of his name. "That I would follow suit and shun her?" She shook her head and maintained eye contact. "I have seen enough of the world to know it is messy. We - all of us - are fallible, and everyone has made a mistake in their life. Some aren't lucky enough to have those mistakes buried under a rug. I look forward to meeting your family -"

" _Our_ family."

"We _are_ married aren't we?"

"Mmm, Yes." He nudged his nose into her hair and over her ear. If she had been standing, she would have crumpled onto the ground in a useless pile of Elizabeth.

"Then I look forward to meeting the rest of _our_ family." The words were her own but her voice clearly was not. The breathy, nearly hoarse version was something she had never heard before. He continued his ministrations, trailing kisses down her neck, his hands roaming far more brazenly than they ever had. Elizabeth wasn't entirely sure she would not combust from the heat and the need boiling inside her.

In this state of frantic affairs, neither of them heard the door open as Lydia's voice very nearly sent Elizabeth tumbling to the floor and Darcy into an apoplexy.

"Ew. What on _earth_ are you doing? Uck." Lydia shielded her eyes dramatically but did not think to retreat.

" _ **Lydia**_ _!_ " Elizabeth righted herself clumsily, standing on wobbling knees and leaning into her also standing husband for support. "I am _married_ you were _at the ceremony_ not an hour past, what are you doing in here?"

Lydia scoffed but hadn't dropped her hand from her eyes. "Are you decent yet?"

"Yes, Miss Lydia, you may uncover your eyes." He spike with the patience of a man used to dealing with children and Elizabeth was not exactly positive how that could stoke her fever further.

Lydia peeked from behind her hand before dropping them all together. "Good. That was disgusting." Elizabeth started to speak but Lydia kept going. "You have a visitor." She giggled giddily. "I _had_ to come up to tell you because you will _never_ guess who it is."

Elizabeth glared at her youngest sister, the heat and unadulterated lust she had felt just moments before turning to red hot anger fueled by an odd embarrassment and annoyance at their lack of privacy even after being married.

"Go on, Lydia." Elizabeth snapped.

"Oh no! You must guess! What a lark this will be! You can't possibly guess. Although, you _should_ hurry I do not believe this is a person you should keep waiting."

Elizabeth felt Darcy go entirely stiff, the arm she had been leaning into flexing tightly.

"Miss Lydia, if it is who I think it is you must leave so we can prepare."

"Oh yes! Lizzie may I borrow your dress. I did a wonderful job on the alterations, it might even fit me."

Yes. Elizabeth was now debating actual bodily harm to her sister.

" _Lydia_. This is my _wedding dress,_ no you can not borrow it. _**Who is here?**_ "

"Oh poo. I had hoped you two would be a bit more fun. No matter." She flicked her hand in the air. "Prinny is waiting impatiently for the both of you." She looked to the slack jawed Elizabeth and the frozen Darcy and giggled again.

"You know, _the_ _Prince Regent."_


End file.
